


Hope for a Dream

by wenwen



Category: B.A.P, GOT7, Infinite (Band), JYJ (Band), VIXX, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Coming of Age, Dystopia, Explicit Language, Friendship, Gen, Revolt, Revolution, Sacrifice, Self-Discovery, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 42,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4768424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wenwen/pseuds/wenwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was designed to be the perfect system, but somewhere in the order and discipline, humanity lost its way and people became numbers.  Jungkook doesn't have a dream, but he wants one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts used:
> 
> Song - "I can see it coming round full circle my friend//On the TV they said they had reported you dead//It was my fault cause I could've sworn that you'd said//it was easy to find another for your bed//How does it feel to leave me this way//When all you have's been lost in a day//Everybody knows, but not what to say." --Rixton, "Hotel Ceiling" 
> 
> Quote - “There is nothing more seductive—and dangerous—than being listened to.” -- Donald Antrim, The Verificationist

**It was designed to be the perfect system.  Keepers led and governed over the Watchers, who guarded and policed the Workers, who toiled to keep the nation functioning.  But somewhere in the order and discipline, humanity lost its way and people became numbers.**

_Paperwork._

_The bane of every government, whether or not it was actually physically on paper.  Sunggyu stares balefully at the piles of paper on his desk, then on either side at the holographic screens filled with even more statistics and reports, and finally turns his gaze back to the man making his report in front of his desk.   He resists the urge to sigh – it was always bad news, these days, and today is no different.  The past few quarters, years even, had revealed a rather disturbing trend._

_“…again in West-1, -2, and -4; East-1, -2, and -6; North-1 and -2; and South -1, -2, -4, and -5.   The supply caravans have reported between 15 and 30 percent losses in these raids, and these sectors specifically have also yielded lower than average contentment ratings based on the data from the Workers’ chips…”  Sungyeol continues, flicking through different pages on his tablet._

_“Thanks, Sungyeol,” Sunggyu interrupts with a strained smile.  Sungyeol looks up, cutting off mid-tirade, and Sunggyu’s smile turns into a sort of grimace.  “I’m sorry.  I just need to…” he waves his hand at the papers and data screens around him.  “…can you send me a copy of that report?” he finishes weakly._

_Sungyeol gives him an odd look.  “Sure, hyung.  Ah…are you sure you’re…” he trails off, looking a bit awkward.  “Ah…do you want to…” he tries again, but still can’t finish.  “Uh…never mind,” he mutters.  “See you later, hyung,” he says, and practically trips in his hurry to get out of the office._

_Sunggyu frowns a bit at the odd behavior, but quickly pushes it out of his mind as he surveys the piles of information surrounding him.  General unhappiness.  Increasing raids.  Unregistered sightings.  It all adds up to a rather disturbing picture._

_Sunggyu stares blankly down at his desk for a long moment, then let out his breath in a tired sigh.  He tossed the pen back down on his desk carelessly and slumped down in his chair, resting his head against one hand wearily.  How had it come to this? How could he fix it?_

_He glares at the data once more.  There are no answers here.  Not in these stark, unforgiving statistics.  But perhaps…_

_A lithe form lounges languidly in a plush armchair, one of two set at an angle to each other.  Bookcases line the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes and chrome ornaments, and a lush cream carpet pads the floor.  Tall brocade curtains colored a deep red are drawn to leave the room in shadows, but still feeble streamers of light illuminate the man sprawled with fluid grace facing the carved mahogany doors.  He raises his head and smiles as Sunggyu nearly storms into the room, but despite the welcoming expression, the man’s tawny eyes are flinty and cold._

_“Our esteemed leader,” the man purrs, sliding slowly to his feet and approximating a graceful bow at the younger man.  “What brings you here to visit a humble prisoner such as myself?”_

_Sunggyu can’t help but notice the man’s devastating beauty, with his porcelain skin and toned physique, hair dyed the same color of his eyes.  Sunggyu takes a brief moment to steady himself and reign in his raging emotions; he will need every bit of his composure to play this game.  He knows he is the one in charge here but he can’t help but feel as though the man before him is the predator and Sunggyu the prey._

_“Kim Jaejoong.”  He refuses to cross his arms and is relieved that his tone is hard and steady.  He can’t afford to show weakness to the older man and he suspects Jaejoong knows it too.  There is a self-satisfied glint in his eyes as he sinks back down into the chair and crosses his legs, and gestures at the other._

_“Do sit down,” he invites, regarding Sunggyu with a knowing smirk.  “Might I interest you in a drink, perhaps?”  He waves a hand carelessly at the small round table between the chairs, where an unopened bottle rests in a bucket of ice and two glass tumblers wait._

_Sunggyu scowls and doesn’t move, one degree of intensity away from full-on glaring at Jaejoong.  Jaejoong isn’t daunted, more amused as he raises an eyebrow and settles back more comfortably in his chair. “No?  Then perhaps our esteemed leader might deign to reveal the reasoning behind this little visit?”_

_Sunggyu leans against a tall, heavily laden bookcase and finally does cross his arms, feeling just the slightest bit exposed as he does so.  Slowly, in a low voice, “I,” he begins, “have done so much for this society.  I have created order from chaos -- a chaos you orchestrated.  I made sure each and every citizen had food, water, shelter, security…I raised up this nation from rubble to a safe haven for everyone.  So tell me,” he fixes his sole audience with a hard glare, “why would anyone resist this?  In the imperfection of humanity, here is as close to heaven as mankind can come.  I created this nation from the rubble of yours so the people could finally be happy, healthy.  Everyone is employed, everyone receives the sustenance they need, and I’m asking you this because you were the one that resisted since its inception.  Why?”_

_Jaejoong regards him with unreadable eyes for a long moment, head tilted to one side.  Dust motes dance leisurely through the air as Sunggyu tries to contain his growing ire.  He is not patient and really has never been patient, and so barks out, “Well?”_

_The older man’s eyes reflect something like triumph, Sunggyu thinks resentfully, as Jaejoong languidly drawls out, “So.  You are going to ask the man that represented the greatest obstacle to your reign to save it for you.”_

_Sunggyu raises his chin to fix Jaejoong with a harsh stare.  “Even through all these years, you’ve claimed you only wanted the best for the people,” he accuses harshly.  “You claimed you were trying to help, and that’s what got you house arrest instead of banishment – and certain death – beyond the walls of this nation.  If you are as you say you are, and you genuinely care about this country and its people, you will answer me.”_

_“Ah.” Jaejoong scrutinizes Sunggyu with unreadable eyes.  “Well, yes.  I suppose the people are the people no matter what you call this place.  I do care about the people here, and I suppose that is the reason you grace me with this gilded cage,” he waves at the heavy luxury of the room, “on good faith.” He pauses, and a curious smile creeps onto his face.  He rises slowly, hands tucked in his pockets, and prowls slowly towards Sunggyu with inhuman grace.  “But,” he continues, still in the same light, casual tone, “the thing about human beings is…we like our freedom.  Try and take it away, and men will fight tooth and claw to get it back.”  His smile turns ironic, and Sunggyu fights to keep from backing away as the other man advances._

_Jaejoong’s tawny eyes lock on Sunggyu’s and hold for a long moment, before Jaejoong turns away and regards the room at large, with its extravagant trappings and empty, heavy luxury.  “And another thing,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.  “Mankind will never agree for very long.  There will always be…fighting.  Physical.  Verbal.  Psychological.”  He half-turns, fixing Sunggyu with a knowing stare once more.  “Kingdoms, empires, countries…have all risen and fallen in turn.  And let me remind you,” he continued, fully turning and advancing yet another step towards the transfixed younger man, caught in the honey of his voice and the echo of foreboding and those captivating eyes, “that a rebellion, unsuccessful, is called a revolt.  If it is successful, it is called a revolution.”  He smiles faintly, ironically.  “Food for thought,” he finishes lightly._

_Sunggyu stares at him with narrow eyes, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, then turns abruptly. “We’re done here,” he snaps over his shoulder, striding out the door of the library and down the stairs to the main entryway.  Jaejoong says nothing, makes no move to follow him, and merely watches as the younger man slams the front door of the house to leave him in the gloom of the lonely mansion once more._

_Sunggyu doesn’t know why he would visit his dethroned predecessor, a man he himself had overthrown, but something leads him back to the enigmatic man who somehow has all the answers but can offer him nothing at all._

_And those cold, knowing eyes and that vague smile linger in his mind even as Sunggyu sweeps out of the mansion with the lush topiary and paved brick pathways to the waiting car._

 

Jungkook is a prodigy.  He knows it.  He knows it when he is five and the teachers whisper words like genius and prodigy in reverent tones when he gets a perfect score on a test intended for someone twice his age, when he brings down an opponent twice his size during sparring practice.  He knows it when the Keeper and the Watchers sweep him from shabby, far-out East-3 to the Inner City and the Overwatch Academy, with its understated luxury and casual opulence.  Classes are harder here in Inner Central, and the physical training more intense, but Jungkook doesn’t have problems keeping up.  He surpasses his peers, and his teachers move him up a grade, then another, and another.

He knows he is stronger, faster, smarter, better than all his classmates.

They know it too.  Jungkook sees it in their disdainful eyes and jealous glares carefully hidden from their teachers, the wide berth they give him in the classrooms and hallways, and the thinly veiled resentment when the rankings are posted.

They try to beat him back down when he iss six and new and painfully shy but still manages to outscore his Grade in the quarter evaluation, and almost the entire Academy on the yearly aptitude test that compares the performance and potential every student enrolled at the elite school.  He is curled in on himself because even then he knows to protect his more vulnerable body parts, but his tormentors are more than twice his age and had more Watcher training and more combat training and knew where to hit.  Jungkook wants it to end, to at least lose consciousness so he wouldn’t have to feel it, but then he hears another voice and it’s telling the older boys to stop.  And they listen.  Because ten-year-old Kim Seokjin is standing there at the end of the hallway, his kind smile gone and his warm eyes gone hard and stormy, and he is the one student at the Overwatch Academy Jungkook had not surpassed in the test.  Seokjin’s ten is still much younger than the boys that surround Jungkook, but the boys back off without question because Seokjin is still the jjang and could probably land all of them in the Medical Ward for weeks.

And then Seokjin is kneeling in front of Jungkook and asking if he’s okay, if he needs the medical ward, and Jungkook thinks the older boy must be a guardian angel as Seokjin wipes away the rebellious tears that Jungkook couldn’t keep from streaking his face.  “Jeon Jungkook,” says Seokjin, reading the tag on his uniform, and Jungkook sniffles a little.  Seokjin stands him up, brushes him off, and with a few parting words walks away back down the corridor, and Jungkook watches him go.

Everyone knows Kim Seokjin, with his tragic past and his brilliance both in academic subjects and combat training.  Even their teachers, seasoned Watchers and even Keepers, regard Seokjin with reverence and admiration in their eyes.  Because Seokjin is not just good, he’s also just good.  Everyone likes him.  Everyone respects him.  He has a gentle nature and is unfailingly polite, smiles often and at everyone because he doesn’t like to fight, and he genuinely cares about the people around him.

The Watchers that taught at the Academy worried about Seokjin because he was just too kind; they thought he wouldn’t be able to administer the law like their job dictated and fight and punish when the time came.  They’d thought about holding him back from his early, early graduation--he’d just turned fourteen--but they hadn’t needed to worry.  They’d sent him off to West-1, the worst sector, for a trial by fire on his first deployment in the Overwatch as a Level 2 Watcher, and Seokjin shone.  The teachers spoke of his cold efficiency, ruthless practicality, and rapid promotions with awe and fond reminiscence and lectured the other students that this was the model Watcher that they should all strive to be like.

And Jungkook did.  He never forgot.  Even when all the other students ostracized him and avoided him like they never had Seokjin, Jungkook focused on being the best, just like Seokjin, and strove towards his goal of being Head Keeper of the country one day.

“Jeon Jungkook, ranked second in the Academy,” Seokjin had said the day he rescued him, and smiled a little sadly. “Nobody will blame you for defending yourself.”  The boys hadn’t physically tried to beat him again while Seokjin was still at the Academy, but the year he left, they cornered him in an empty stairwell.  Jungkook put them in Medical for three days and after that nobody bothered him again.  Nobody willingly talked to him again, either.

Nine years later, at the tender age of fifteen and on the brink of graduation, Jungkook knew he was the best.  And it was a lonely place.

 

Jungkook’s eyes drifted open upon the first buzz of the alarm.  He lay still for a moment as the beeping continued, then mechanically sat up and rubbed his face, stifling a yawn.   Moments later, as the last beep of the alarm faded, the lights flickered on with a hum.  Jungkook frowned and squinted against the brightness, mentally cursing because despite seven years in the Overwatch Academy, he was still not a morning person.  He half rolled, half fell out of his bunk and stumbled across to the adjoining bed.  His roommate, Choi Junhong, was even less of a morning person and had once again wrapped himself in his blankets in an attempt to ward off the encroaching day. Jungkook groggily reached out and yanked on the blanket.  “Get up, hyung,” he groaned, but the lump of blanket that was Junhong didn’t even stir.   “Hyung.” He shook the other boy roughly, who finally rolled over.

“Yeah, okay, I’m coming,” grumbled the older boy as he unraveled himself from the sheets, and Jungkook abandoned his roommate to wash up and get changed.

They didn’t have proper rooms in the dormitories, one of which was assigned to each Academy grade; their ‘bedroom’ was more like a three-walled alcove shared between two of them in a large open room, but the relative privacy was ruined by the unfortunate few who snored or simply had loud sleeping habits.  The centrally located bathroom wasn’t exactly private either, with its large communal shower and rows of stalls and sinks.

Despite most definitely despising mornings, Jungkook preferred to shower early before his classmates got to the bathroom.  He was the first to arrive, and moments later was joined by his roommate.  Both of them, if not exactly targets, were not very popular with the general populace – a ten year old Junhong had been recruited when Jungkook was nine, relatively late for a prospective Watcher, but quickly proved himself worthy of the nomination, to the resentment of their peers.

By the time both the boys were dressed, the bathroom was filling with nineteen- and twenty-year-olds – their fellow classmates and prospective graduates.  A few younger boys had likewise tested into the class, but tended to keep their heads down and stuck together – much like Jungkook and Junhong, who were the youngest.  This morning, the usual chatter and conversation was subdued, tinged with a nervous air, and smiles were strained or nonexistent.

Jungkook’s face was blank as he walked out of the bathroom, past a couple of older boys that muttered and smirked and sent him matching dark stares, and he set off for the cafeteria.  It had been a long time since the whispers had affected him, and since then he had mastered his emotions.  He was a good soldier, after all, just like his teachers told him.

Junhong caught up before the younger boy reached the line, and Jungkook passed him a metal tray.  Jungkook’s dark eyes flicked down to where Junhong’s regulation light grey fatigues were tucked into light training boots, and Junhong peered down as well.  “Your shoes are untied,” Jungkook noted blandly, turning away to serve himself a helping of rice.

From the corner of his eye, Junhong blinked and smiled a little sheepishly. “Ah…well, I’ll take care of it later.”  

Jungkook marveled once more at Junhong’s openness and clumsiness, but as usual dismissed it as unimportant as he turned back to the food.  A bowl of thick, fish and tofu stew followed the rice onto his tray, then radish kimchi, and finally a pork-filled bun.  

They sat down at the edge of the room at a long table identical to the dozens of other rectangular tables in the room, and Junhong immediately attacked his food – he’d opted for double servings of rice and stew and forgone the bread entirely.  Jungkook ate more sedately and watched as the expansive room filled with uniformed children from age four to twenty, all wearing the same grey trousers and boots.  The quiet hum rose into a dull roar, briefly interrupted by the five-minute warning bell twenty minutes later.  Jungkook glanced down at his nearly empty tray, mopped up the last of his stew with his bread, and stuffed it into his mouth.   Across from him, Junhong let out a somewhat strangled grumble of agitation as he tipped the remainder of his second bowl of stew into his mouth.   What remained of his kimchi quickly followed, and Jungkook stood up to drop his tray off at the counter with Junhong on his heels.

Jungkook set off out of the cafeteria and down the corridor to their first classroom at an unhurried pace, but Junhong immediately overtook him, bouncing excitedly like an overgrown puppy.  “Hyung…” Jungkook hissed, pained, and glanced from side to side to make sure none of their teachers were nearby.

“Lighten up, Jungkookie,” Junhong tossed back cheerfully, slowing down to saunter just ahead of Jungkook.  “You’re too proper all the time.  People will think you’re an ice block or something.”

Jungkook frowned.  Junhong hadn’t transferred to Inner Central until much later than usual, and frankly, this hyung worried him.  Junhong wasn’t much older than Jungkook, but still retained an innocence and naivety that had nearly gotten him into trouble with the other prospective Watchers and their teachers.  He’d come from a school in the North-1 sector, which was apparently much more lenient than the Academy, and Junhong was much more prone to casual rule-breaking than Jungkook was comfortable with.  He’d also attached himself to Jungkook with the tenacity of a pitbull, getting himself promoted early as well until the two were in the same grade.  

They were early to class, and after scanning in their chips at the doorway, slid into their desks, side by side.  The seating was determined by ranking in the class, so Jungkook sat in the front and furthest to the left with Jinah, the girl ranked second, behind him.  Junhong, ranked eleventh, sat next to Jungkook at the beginning of the second row.

Jungkook eyed his companion with disapproval.  He suspected that the older boy could have ranked higher, but had played with the system and faked his scores to end up with the seat next to his three quarters in a row despite the ever-shifting topography of class rankings.  Junhong had denied it, of course, but considering his flippancy regarding the rankings at large and his maverick behavior in general, it was definitely suspicious.  

As though he could feel the stare, Junhong turned his cheerful smile on Jungkook once again, who fought to keep from rolling his eyes.  In comparison to Jungkook’s own neatly combed hair and buttoned collared shirt, Junhong’s shock of hair was exceptionally unruly and resembled a windblown mountain yak, and his collar was unbuttoned and half-flipped under his red regulation sweatshirt.  Jungkook blinked owlishly before turning to face the front resolutely as their classmates filed in.

However, he could still practically feel Junhong’s blinding grin, and seconds later, heard the muttered, “Don’t be so stiff, Jungkookie, the teacher’s not even here yet.” Jungkook slanted an impressive glower at Junhong, but the grin only widened. “If you’re not careful, your face will get stuck like that, and then where would you be?” Jungkook narrowed his eyes and angled his stare at Junhong, then pointedly down at the other boy’s collar.  Junhong rolled his eyes in exasperation and reached down to tug the collar out of the shirt. “Better?”

Their quasi-conversation was interrupted by tall, slim, nineteen-year-old Im Jinah, who stalked gracefully between the two to reach her seat.  Jungkook darted a glance at her; she appeared thoroughly unimpressed with their – well, Junhong’s – juvenile attempts at entertainment, but then again, Jinah never really did seem impressed with anything.  The only time Jungkook had seen anything resembling excitement on her face was when she had successfully executed a dangerously acrobatic but devastating combination during sparring practice for the first time.  The girl had represented the best of her Overwatch class until Jungkook moved up into the class, and although she consistently tested into the top five, she hadn’t managed to dethrone the young prodigy.  She hadn’t treated him with any outward disdain, but remained distant and professional in all their encounters.  Jungkook risked another wary glance at the older girl before turning forwards as their teacher strode into the room.

Level 5 Watcher Kim Junmyeon had taught their class for the past rotation, and would conclude his teaching duties with the upcoming quarter’s end. He was a more than competent teacher, but somewhat bland, and although he would never admit it, Jungkook had much preferred the quirky, cheerful, and inexplicably clumsy Level 6 Watcher Lee Jinki who had taught the previous rotation.  Watcher Jinki had not always known what he was doing, and sometimes the students had learned absolutely nothing of use, but classes were definitely interesting with his distracted ramblings and the colorful anecdotes of his division’s deployments in the outer sectors.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t Jungkook’s place to judge their teachers, so as Junmyeon coughed and cleared his throat, Jungkook straightened in his seat a little and focused his attention on the Watcher.

“Trainees,” Junmyeon began, and Jungkook was distantly aware of Junhong slouching down beside him, already bored, “today is the final test of the quarterly evaluation.”

Jungkook quashed down the small thrill of excitement and anticipation.  Around him, his classmates shifted around nervously or excitedly, too well trained to start talking as they would like.

“For some of you,” the Watcher continued, “this is your last chance to become a Watcher, including classifications of Reserve, Guard, or Medical.  If you have been a member of Grade 20 but failed to pass the tests for seven quarters, or if you reached twenty years of age during this past quarter and once again fail these tests, you will be removed from the Overwatch Academy and Central City and placed in a school in a Cardinal Sector for training as a Worker.” He paused.

Vaguely, across the classroom, Jungkook heard a stifled, almost hysterical gasp from Number 78, Lee Hongbin, who had spent six quarters in Grade 20, and had just turned twenty the week before.  Jungkook scoffed internally.  Trainees generally shouldn’t spend more than four quarters per grade, even in the highest and most difficult grade. This was Jungkook’s first quarter in Grade 20, for trainees deemed probable graduates, and he didn’t plan on taking more than two quarters in any one Grade.

“You all took the academic examinations already,” Junmyeon continued. “Some of you have already qualified to become at the very least a specialized Watcher, Class: Reserve or Class: Medical.  Others of you have already failed to become any kind of Watcher this quarter.  Several of you will have the chance during the physical evaluations today to become a specialized Watcher, Class: Guard if you did not score high enough on the test to become a Watcher or Watcher, Class: Reserve or Medical.”

The nervous energy in the room intensified, but next to Jungkook, Junhong was decidedly unconcerned.  The boy next to him, the current Number 30, however, was paper-white and looked as though he might pass out.

Watcher Junmyeon surveyed the class of over a hundred students, many of which were vibrating with excitement, anticipation, nervousness, or fear.  “Scores for the academic test and target scores for the physical test will be posted outside.  Physical testing will commence in one hour and may not conclude until more than 50 hours from now.  I suggest you take the time to rest, eat, or prepare in any other way you believe would be beneficial.”  Junmyeon paused and raked his eyes over the students.  “Remember: Advancement through hard work.  Dismissed.”  Junmyeon turned and strode out of the classroom.

As soon as the door closed behind him, the students erupted into quiet chaos.  Some trainees immediately rushed the door to check their scores outside, while others converged into small, excited huddles, talking urgently and nervously.  A few students also taking the graduation test for the first time clustered near Jungkook and Junhong.  One was shaking.  Another looked like she might throw up.

Jungkook glanced over, disdainful, then pushed himself to his feet and made his way towards the door.  He definitely wasn’t worried about the test – it was strenuous, yes, but probably nothing he couldn’t handle.  A massive group of his classmates blocked the hallway and spilled from the classroom, all vying to find their name on the lists.  Jungkook knew he had scored well on the test – high enough to become a Class: Reserve or even Class Medical if he wanted, so of course he’d had no problem passing the lower threshold to qualify as a Watcher.   His classmates weren’t moving, so Jungkook elbowed and shouldered his way towards the end of the hallway, fighting against the pressing crowd.

“Hey,” snarled one of the older boys towards the end of the hall, as Jungkook nudged into his back to try and get him out of the way.  Number 34, Lee Kyumin, nineteen years old, second quarter in Grade 20, his mind supplied.  Jungkook’s momentum had accidentally carried them both around the corner, and Kyumin whirled, grabbing Jungkook’s shoulder, and slammed him into the wall with an angry scowl.  Jungkook gritted his teeth and fought to keep from retaliating.  No fighting in the hallways, a small voice in his brain reminded.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Junhong had no such reservations.  Two years younger, Junhong was just as tall if a bit thinner, and he yanked Kyumin off Jungkook and hooked a leg around the older boy’s to send him crashing to the ground.  “Sorry, hyung, your shoelace is untied,” he said innocently, before Jungkook grabbed his arm and dragged him down the hallway.   He chanced a glance backwards to where Kyumin had picked himself back up and glared before turning back.

“Hyung, no fighting in the hallways! Or outside sparring practice!” Jungkook hissed, practically vibrating in irritation as he stormed back towards the dormitories with Junhong in tow.

“It’s not like there were any teachers around, Jungkookie,” Junhong pointed out with a lazy grin, letting the smaller boy drag him.  “Plus, he started it.”

“That’s not the point!” Jungkook seethed.  “It’s against the rules, Junhong hyung!”

“So what?” Junhong stopped abruptly, and Jungkook swung around to face him.  Junhong had a strange, sharp smile on his face.  “Are you going to report me, Jeon Jungkook?”

Jungkook glared, at a loss for words, but as he turned back towards the dorms, muttered, “No.” And Junhong followed him, the easy smile back on his face.

 

 

“…and Lee Hongbin passed the academic part, but barely,” Junhong continued as he and Jungkook wandered towards the gym with fifteen minutes before the physical test.  “Not high enough to make Class: Reserve, but enough to be a Watcher if he passes the physical.  Jung Sooyeon scored high enough to make Class: Medical, which is probably what she’ll go for.  Since she has the athleticism of a maimed anteater…”

Jungkook let Junhong’s ramblings fade to background noise as they entered the gym.  Several members of their Grade had already gathered on the bleachers of one corner of the expansive enclosure covered in rubber mats, the entirety of which had been reserved for the graduation testing.  A shiver of anticipation and excitement made its way down his spine as he threaded his way to the bleachers and perched near the edge, with Junhong’s incessant chatter in his ear.

His one-sided conversation cut off abruptly as their two PT instructors led a line of figures in dark grey Watcher uniforms into the gym after the last stragglers of their Grade.   Their first instructor, Ok Taecyeon, stepped forward as the trainees settled into a tense, uncomfortable silence.  “The physical evaluations will begin now,” he announced. “Remember that there are different thresholds to pass depending on whether or not you plan to specialize: lower for Class: Reserve and Medical, and higher for Class: Guard and unclassified.  If you rank an even number, you will begin with Watcher Yujin for general speed, strength, and endurance tests.  If you rank an odd number, you will begin with me for sparring and combat evaluations.  You will each spar at least five times, four against your classmates, and once against one of our guests.”  He waved a hand at the six Watchers behind him.  “Overwatch Divisions 148 and 222 happened to be on break in Inner Central this quarter, and some of their members were gracious enough to join us for your evaluations.”

“Enough talk.”  Watcher Yujin stepped forward, and a quarter of the Grade flinched instinctively from the diminutive but nonetheless intimidating instructor.  “If you rank an even number, line up outside.”  She abruptly turned and strode from the building, and half the class scrambled to follow.

Jungkook and the diminished class turned their attention back to Watcher Taecyeon, who was nonplussed but unruffled by his colleague’s interruption and abrupt departure.  “We’ll begin with individual sparring, no weapons.  Our guest Watchers will help referee, so come down to the mat when you hear your name called.  Stay in the circle and fight until one opponent yields or a referee calls the match.  If you are not fighting, stay in the gym but feel free to get food or water.”  Taecyeon paused to take in the class’ expressions.  “Good luck to you all, and remember: achievement through hard work.”

The Watcher moved on to calling out the first matches, and Junhong smirked crookedly and languidly rose to his feet when his number was called.  “I guess I’m up, Jungkookie,” he drawled, clambering down the bleachers among the other chosen fighters.  Jungkook didn’t move, but watched as Junhong meandered to circle six and faced off against his opponent Number 17 Kim Yuna, age 18, second quarter in Grade 20 as a Watcher stood between them.  Junhong would win, Jungkook decided.  Kim Yuna was smart and fast, but so was Junhong, and Junhong was also stronger and fought…unconventionally.

Case in point, Jungkook thought wryly, as Junhong yanked on Yuna’s ponytail when she ducked under his swipe, but promptly lost his grip when the flailing girl elbowed him in the throat.  The two combatants stumbled away from each other, glaring.  Then Yuna flung her entire body forward in an attempt to sweep out Junhong’s legs, and when he leapt upwards to avoid her, swung her entire body in an acrobatic circle and landed a double kick on his midriff in midair.  He grabbed her feet as she did so, and the pair went tumbling in a pile on one edge of the circle, still pounding at each other with limited success.

Bemused, Jungkook reevaluated his opinion of the results.  Apparently Kim Yuna was a rather inventive fighter as well.  He wondered if the pair realized that they were being evaluated on how well they fought with the proper techniques.

Yuna did, at least, because she rolled away from Junhong, a little worse for wear, and sank into a textbook ready taekwondo stance.  Junhong, crouched on the ground, eyed her warily. The two blurred into motion again as Junhong charged, and the pair exchanged a flurry of blows before the smaller girl managed to grab ahold of Junhong’s arm and threw him into the mat.  Junhong yanked on her exposed wrist, and managed to bring her down as well, but she twisted out of his grip. The combatants rolled to their feet and resumed circling, darting inwards every so often to exchange blows.  Finally, Junhong caught her by the arm and shoulder, tripping her to pin her on the mat with a knee in the small of her back. After about a minute of fruitless struggles, Yuna tapped the mat, and Junhong let her up. The two exchanged bows, then bowed at the referee Watcher, who made a few notes on this clipboard and waved at them to go.

Jungkook let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, and schooled his face into nonchalance as Junhong practically scampered back up the bleachers to join him.

“Not, bad, huh?” Junhong grinned as the plopped down next to Jungkook.

Jungkook hmm’ed and frowned.  “You weren’t fighting with much form, hyung,” he noted.

Junhong shrugged and ruffled Jungkook’s hair, ignoring the latter’s annoyed glare.  “It got the job done, didn’t it?”

Jungkook glowered, ducking away from the older boy and smoothing down the hair.  “That’s not the point,” he muttered.

The pair sat in relative silence as they watched the matches down on the mat until Jungkook’s number was called. Junhong slapped him gleefully on the back, and he nearly pitched headfirst down the stairs.  He didn’t bother turning to glare, instead heading down to circle four, where his opponent Number 3 Cha Sunwoo, age 19, fourth quarter in Grade 20 already waited.

“Alright,” said the Watcher once both trainees were inside the circle.   He was young – maybe the same age as Jungkook’s opponent, and slouched casually with one hand in his pocket and the other gripping a clipboard loosely. “Let’s try to avoid maiming or killing each other.  You’ll be graded on your performance, not necessarily on whether you win or lose.  Objections?”  Jungkook’s opponent shook his head, and Jungkook copied him, eyes already locked on the older boy.  “No? Okay, start.”

Jungkook lunged immediately, blocking the fist coming for his face with one arm and lashing at his opponent’s midriff with the other.  The hit landed, but in the next instant, Jungkook was yanked off his feet as the larger teen tossed him effortlessly over his shoulder. Jungkook landed in a roll and dove to one side as Sunwoo’s foot swept after him. He was on his feet in a flash, caught the next kick with crossed arms, then lunged without a pause.  Punch, duck, jump back, punch, block, kick, spin-jump-kick.  Sunwoo was stronger than him, and blocking his blows actually hurt, but Jungkook was faster, and if he could just get under Sunwoo’s guard…

Jungkook’s hits didn’t affect Sunwoo as much as he had hoped, when he could land them, and every time Sunwoo landed a solid hit on Jungkook, Jungkook was forced back on defense until he found an opening. An opening, Jungkook thought grimly, as he redirected Sunwoo’s punches as best as possible, that was long in coming.  Until it was there.

Jungkook sprang forward, ducking a punch, and grabbed Sunwoo’s other arm just above the elbow with his left hand.  In the same movement, he shoved Sunwoo’s chin with the other hand, hard, and the older boy fell backwards when Jungkook hooked a leg around his.  Sunwoo went down hard, and Jungkook pinned him with an arm bar, breathing heavily.  They lay still for a moment.  Sunwoo shifted a little, but Jungkook tightened his grip and Sunwoo stopped moving with a grimace and tapped the mat.  Jungkook rolled off the teen and to his feet, and both of them bowed at each other, then at the Watcher.

“Hm, okay.  Good match, you two.  You’ll get your results in two days and all that,” the Watcher informed them absently, still scribbling on his clipboard.  “You guys can go now.”

Sunwoo stalked back to the bleachers ahead of Jungkook, annoyance practically radiating out of his head, and the younger boy grimaced a little as he straightened his rumpled clothes and rejoined Junhong on his perch.

 

Hours later, Jungkook woke with a start as Junhong shook him awake.  “C’mon, Jungkookie, they’re about to start the spars with the Watchers.”  Jungkook blinked blearily up at the other boy, and sat up from where he had sprawled on the bleachers.

In the past twenty hours, they’d done individual spars with the standard-issue extendable batons issued to Watchers and team spars with and without weapons, formatted in skirmishes with the objective of capturing an object and taking down every member of the opposing team.  Jungkook had defeated his individual opponent handily, but Junhong had the misfortune to draw Number 33 Huang Zitao, age 18, fifth quarter in Grade 20, best in Grade at weapons sparring as his opponent, whose struggles with language comprehension were entirely to blame for his relatively low ranking.  Needless to say, Junhong put up a good fight but went down in the end.  Junhong’s teams won both weaponless and weapons sparring, but although Jungkook’s team won weapons sparring, his weaponless sparring team was soundly defeated, and in the end, Jungkook failed to fend off the half of the opposing team that survived.

For the next few hours while the remaining teams sparred, the pair took turns napping on the bleachers – although uncomfortable, Jungkook insisted that neither of them would have much rest for the thirty-some hours of the physical exam.

Both of them were called first for the first round.  Junhong’s opponent had refereed Jungkook’s first sparring match against Sunwoo.  Junhong’s tall, gangly figure made the Watcher, shorter than Jungkook, look laughably like a doll.  Jungkook’s own opponent was even shorter and had the same number, 222, marked in tiny white numbers on his collar.

Jungkook eyed his opponent, who grinned at him.  His dark brown hair was ruffled, as though he ran his hand through it constantly, and although rather short, Jungkook could see from his stance and posture that he was strong.  “Ready?” asked the Watcher, breaking him from his observations.  Jungkook managed a short nod.  “Okay.  Go!” crowed the Watcher, and immediately lunged at him.  Jungkook backpedaled, eyes wide.  He hadn’t expected the Watcher to be so fast.  He blocked a lightning fast jab, ducked another punch, but was completely blindsided by the spinning kick that sent him sprawling to the other side of the circle.  He rolled to his feet, darted to the side, and lashed out with his own kick.

The Watcher dodged out of the way, spinning to the side to avoid Jungkook’s next kick, and launched himself into a crazily acrobatic yet graceful flip that ended in a spinning kick a little too close to Jungkook’s head for comfort.

The Watcher was an impossible opponent.  Coming too close left Jungkook vulnerable to the lightning-fast lunges that could pierce his guard like wet tissue paper.  Letting his opponent get too much distance would set him up for another one of the acrobatic kicks.

Jungkook ducked yet another kick and tackled the Watcher, hoping to pin him, but his opponent slipped out of his grasp and lashed out with his foot again. Jungkook barely avoided it with a backwards hop, and landed in a crouch.

The Watcher was fast and aggressive, and Jungkook matched him kick for kick, unable to quite get the upper hand and instead frequently forced back on the defensive.  Five, maybe ten minutes passed, but Jungkook thought it had been days.  The Watcher showed no signs of slowing down, but Jungkook could feel the burn in his muscles and the stiffness from the four matches he’d already fought.  He could feel himself retreating in the face of the Watcher’s ferocious onslaught and gritted his teeth before launching recklessly into a spinning kick.  The Watcher leapt sideways out of his way, and Jungkook landed awkwardly on the mat.  Jungkook turned just in time to see the Watcher’s leg coming at his face.

Two minutes later, Jungkook blinked open his eyes dazedly to see the Watcher staring down at him in concern.  “Hey, are you okay, man?” he asked, crouched over him. “I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, I got carried away.  My bad.”

A string of unintelligible noises escaped Jungkook as he struggled to focus his eyes on the Watcher’s face above the pounding pain shooting through his head.

The Watcher clapped him on the shoulder, sending a white flash of pain in Jungkook’s vision.  “That’s the spirit.  Hey, you’re a pretty good fighter.  Haven’t met a trainee who could fight like that since forever.”  He grinned down at Jungkook, who blinked back.  “Alright, up you get.  Got more of these matches to do, you know.”  He dragged Jungkook upright, who tottered and almost fell against the older teen, head spinning.

“I’ll take him,” he heard Junhong say, and his classmate bowed at the Watcher before slinging Jungkook’s arm over his shoulder and half-carrying him back to the bleachers.  He was vaguely aware of his classmates staring at him with a mixture of glee, apprehension, and even a little concern as he lolled against the taller boy.

“Did you win?” he slurred as Junhong helped him lie down on the bleachers.

“Nope,” Junhong replied cheerfully.  “Got pounded.  Not as bad as you, obviously, but these Watchers are on a whole ‘nother level.  They bring in the best fighters for these exams, you know.”  Jungkook groaned and closed his eyes in an attempt to stifle the pounding headache.  “Here.” Junhong pressed an ice pack against his throbbing head, and Jungkook sighed in relief. “I give you three hours recovery time before we get the endurance tests,” the older boy continued blithely, and Jungkook’s sigh turned into a pained groan.  “You’ll be fine.  I don’t think you have a concussion.”

The endurance tests were, of course, hell.

Watcher Yujin declared that the first test would be a thirty-kilometer run, and anyone who finished more than thirty seconds behind her would ‘fail that portion of the evaluation, then and there.’  Apparently unfazed by the first run she’d done with the first group, and despite having herself not slept for at least twenty-seven hours, she set off at a fast clip that left the fifty-odd trainees scrambling to keep up.

Jungkook clutched at his head as he and Junhong followed their instructor out of the Overwatch Academy compound and out towards the wall that formed the perimeter of the Inner Central City.  The headache had faded to a dull throb localized to the lump where the Watcher had kicked him, fortunately, but he was still sore and aching from the spars and fatigued from lack of sleep.  Junhong, curse him, was apparently still perfectly fine, although his cheerful spirit had dampened a little about halfway through the run.  The two were at the head of the pack, about ten steps behind Watcher Yujin, and although the gap between them and their instructor wasn’t growing, it definitely wasn’t shrinking either.

He chanced a glance backwards.  Their Grade was strung out behind them, and a few stragglers were definitely outside the 30-second window already.  Jungkook faced forward again, closed his eyes, and wished it would end.  He could only keep moving his arms and legs, mechanically, one, two, one, two, one, two…

“Half a kilometer left,” Junhong rasped into his ear, breath coming in short pants.  Jungkook glanced at the older boy, noting the sweat slicking his bangs into his face, a face rapidly reddening with exertion.  Sunwoo had overtaken the pair about two kilometers back, and was still running as though on a morning jog.  Jungkook frowned and sped up a little, closing the gap between himself and their instructor.  “Come on, hyung, just in case she decides to sprint at the end.”

Watcher Yujin did, in fact, decide to sprint the remaining four hundred meters back to the Overwatch Academ.  This left Jungkook, Junhong, and the remaining fifty-some trainees in a panicked dash for the finish, while Sunwoo easily matched the instructor’s pace until the end.  Jungkook’s legs kept moving automatically after he’d passed the finish before he slowed his breakneck pace and stumbled to a stop.  Junhong tripped into him from behind, and too tired to stop his fall, Jungkook ended up in a heap with Junhong on top of him.  Jungkook groaned, and heaved Junhong off him, rolling towards the fence to prevent a pile-up of their classmates staggering after them.

“Fifteen minute break, trainees!” called Watcher Yujin, who didn’t even look like she was breathing hard.  “Drink some water, don’t throw up, and be back here!”

Jungkook dragged himself to his feet with the fence as support.  He lurched off in search of water on cramping legs, leaving Junhong, lying on the ground and moaning feebly, behind.  Some kind soul, probably Watcher Junmyeon, had left a large crate of water bottles outside the Academy building. Jungkook fished out two before wobbling back and throwing one at Junhong.  He collapsed next to Junhong, who rolled to a sitting position and twisted open the water bottle to take a long drink.  Jungkook copied him.

“You’re supposed to move around after a long run, Jungkookie,” Junhong pointed out.

“Yeah,” Jungkook grunted.  He made no move to get up.  Neither did Junhong.

He regretted it ten minutes later when Watcher Yujin called them back together, and he had to haul himself up on cramping leg muscles.

Wind sprints.  Kilometer races.  Bench pressing.  Deadlifts.  Situps.   Pullups.  Pushups.  Jungkook was one giant, aching ball of flesh when he collapsed next to the fence with a bottle of water once again.  The sun had set long ago, but in the darkness, he could still hear Watcher Yujin’s sharp voice counting out the pushups for the group that Junhong was unfortunately in.

The sun had risen for quite a while when the end was near, and the final hour of testing involved all of the fifty-some trainees bending their sore muscles in impossible shapes called “yoga.”   Jungkook privately thought it should be called “torture” as he balanced his entire body weight on one trembling arm with his other arm and legs pointed in different directions.  On the other side of the training ground, he heard Number 89 crash to the ground, unable to support himself.

Fortunately, even that test ended as the sharp-eyed instructor made a final few notes to the clipboard in her hand and dismissed the class.  As Jungkook lowered himself to all fours, panting, his classmates simply let themselves drop with dull thuds.  Junhong was one of them.   Jungkook dragged himself over to the other boy and hauled him up.  “C’mon,” he groaned.  “If we hurry, we can be the first to hit the showersbefore we sleep.”  It was 8am, but class for Grade 20 was cancelled due to the extensive physical exams.

“No shower,” groaned Junhong as he trailed after Jungkook, but Jungkook was adamant.

“You have two days’ worth of sweat on you, hyung,” Jungkook reprimanded, although he also wanted nothing more than to sleep for a day, or two.  “You’d feel horrible when you wake up.”

They managed to make it to the shower before their equally exhausted Grademates joined them and wobbled back to the dormitories.  Junhong slipped twice, and the second time he took Jungkook down with him, adding to both their collections of bruises.  Damp but clean, Jungkook flopped onto his bed and didn’t wake up for twelve hours.

When he did wake up, it was dark again, and his stomach demanded food.  He rolled out of his bunk, stifled a scream at his stiff and sore muscles, and dragged a half-asleep Junhong with him as he limped for the dining hall.  There wasn’t much left, but Jungkook shoveled a congealed chunk of rice onto his tray, followed by what appeared to be an egg casserole, and a lukewarm piece of grilled salmon.  The miso soup had gone cold, but he helped himself to a bowl anyways.

The only other people in the cafeteria were members of his Grade, also looking uncomfortably sore if their stilted movements were anything to tell by, and all ravenously devouring the cold food.   

Junhong slumped down across from him at their usual table. “Can’t move.  Everything hurts,” groaned the older boy, making no move towards his own heavily laden tray.

Jungkook eyed his friend’s tousled head as he stabbed into his blob of rice with his chopsticks.  It came apart in small chunks, which he immediately scooped into his mouth along with the fish.  “If you don’t want yours…” he began around a mouthful of food.

Junhong’s head came up immediately, and he winced from the abrupt movement, but levered a threatening stare at Jungkook as he reached for his own pair of chopsticks.  “Stay away from my food!”

Jungkook just smirked, then almost choked on a bite of the frankly disgusting egg casserole.  Scowling, he shoveled the mass onto Junhong’s tray, then watched with a kind of concerned fascination as his friend indiscriminately devoured it as well.  Minutes later, with a clean tray, Jungkook was sated and once again sleepy.  Lazily, with half-lidded eyes, he watched Junhong demolishing maybe twice as much as he had eaten at an alarming rate, before the last grain of rice was scooped up as well and the older boy sat back with a sigh.

“We’re almost Watchers,” Jungkook noted absently as he collected his tray and chopsticks and padded towards the deposit area.  “If we did well enough, and I think we did.  We could be Watchers stationed in one of the Sectors in less than a week.”

“Are you excited?” drawled Junhong, sauntering after him.

“Of course.” Jungkook glanced at him strangely.  “This is what I’ve been working for all my life.  Aren’t you?”

Junhong half smirked, half grimaced.  “Does it matter?”

Jungkook stopped and turned entirely to face him.  “Yes.  Don’t you want to be a Watcher?  It’s practically the best job in all of Muhan.”

Junhong dropped his tray on the counter with a clatter and turned away.  “No,” he answered absently.  “It’s just expected, is all.  I’ll be a Watcher.  Not everyone gets a chance like this.  No one would be crazy enough to choose being a Watcher over being a Worker, I’m sure.”

“But everyone does get a chance like this,” Jungkook countered, bothered by the ironic smile tugging at the corner of the other boy’s mouth as they wandered back to the dormitories.  “Achievement through hard work.  We have this opportunity because we worked hard at it, and everyone else would if they worked hard too.  Even Workers can have the chance to be promoted to the best Sectors and to Central City itself.”

“It’s not that simple, Jungkook,” snapped Junhong, and Jungkook drew back, eyes slightly wide.  Junhong never lost his temper.

 

Watcher Junmyeon was waiting as the class filed, or rather hobbled, into the classroom the next morning.  He was also smiling, which, although likely intended to seem caring or welcoming, Jungkook found unsettling and a bit threatening.  “Congratulations on completing the graduation evaluation,” the instructor began as the final students shuffled to their seats.  “Some of you for the first time.  Based on your scores, almost a third of you qualified to become a Level 1 or higher Watcher.  If you made the list, you will remain here in the classroom.  Those of you who did not pass will be dismissed until after lunch, and your new place in the rankings will be announced then.”

During the instructor’s short speech, the tension in the room multiplied until Jungkook practically choked on the anxiety and anticipation hanging in the air.  Jungkook’s breath had unconsciously quickened, and he forced himself to breath normally.  Why was he nervous?  He was sure he had made the graduation requirements.

Around Jungkook, the class was dissolving into relieved sighs and panicked gasps as the Watcher began reading out the names of those who’d managed to make it to be a Level 1 Specialty Watcher.  Behind him, he could hear Im Jinah nervously tapping a finger against the desk, and the lower ranks that hadn’t been called were fast nearing a muffled hysteria.  Beside him, however, Junhong’s face was still a mask of bored indifference.

Watcher Junmyeon cleared his throat as the class buzzed, and an eerie silence descended once more.  “Qualified to be a Level 2 Watcher,” he continued.  “Cha Sunwoo.  Im Jinah.  Lee Hongbin.  Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook unclenched his fist and let out a long, slow breath.

“Kim Yuna.  Song Mino.  Han Sanghyuk.  Lee Kyumin.”

Jungkook flashed a sideways look at Junhong, whose placid unconcern had not even been dented.

“Bang Minah.  Yook Sungjae.  Kang Seulgi.  Son Seungwan.”

He thought for a moment that perhaps Junhong had deliberately failed the examination, despite his multiple, rather unconvincing assurances that he actually did want to be a Watcher.  The instructor continued down his list of names, eliciting both sighs of relief and exuberance and increased tension in the class.  

Jungkook wondered why he cared so much.  It wasn’t likely that they’d be placed in the same Division even if they both graduated at the same time, and if they weren’t in the same Division, they very likely wouldn’t see each other again for years.  The idea bothered him more than he was comfortable with, but he pushed it away.  Serving the nation as a Watcher was one of the highest honors possible.

“…Oh Seunghee.  And finally, Choi Junhong.”

Jungkook relaxed back into his chair, stealing another glance at Junhong, who, as usual, appeared entirely unperturbed and merely blinked back at him curiously.

“Those of you whose names were not called may exit the classroom now.”  

Nobody moved until Watcher Junmyeon scowled and glared.  Then those who had not graduated migrated out of the classroom, some sullen, some despairing, some resigned.  Once the last student had exited, Junmyeon turned back to the thirty-odd students remaining, most sitting in the first two rows (although number 109, Kim Jihyun, who had just turned twenty and had apparently spent most of his seven quarters in Grade 20 sleeping during class, had somehow – or finally – graduated) with a few scattered graduates in the rest of the classroom.

“Congratulations on graduating from the Academy,” Junmyeon beamed in the face of the blank silence of the graduates.  “This is a wonderful opportunity for you, and you should be honored that you have been chosen to serve Muhan.  A quick reminder: those of you who graduated as a specialized Class of Level 1 Watcher may choose to test to join the regular Watcher ranks at any quarter evaluation, but we highly recommend you not to if you are Class Medical or Reserve.  Regular Watchers may choose to forfeit your Level 2 status to specialize in any Class.  Questions?”  He regarded the class expectantly.  Nobody moved.  “Would any unspecialized Watchers like to declare a Class?”

Jungkook wondered distantly why someone who qualified as a full Watcher would want to choose to specialize and forever be stuck as a Level 1 Watcher.  He was unsurprised when nobody volunteered.

“You’ll have your Division assignments delivered to you later today.  And congratulations on graduating, again  This is true achievement through hard work, as you all have demonstrated.  You’re dismissed, and welcome to the Overwatch!”

Having graduated, Jungkook had never had so much free time in his life.  He didn’t know what to do with himself until Junhong caught him by the arm and dragged him out of the building.  “We can’t leave Academy grounds, hyung,” Jungkook hissed.

The older boy grinned.  “We graduated, Jungkookie, those rules don’t apply to us anymore.  But don’t worry,” he continued hastily as Jungkook sputtered, “we’re not leaving the Academy just yet.”

A minute later, Jungkook frowned at his companion.  “Arguably, this is worse,” he complained, peering off the edge of the roof from where they’d perched atop the gym.  “Are we even allowed up here?”

“Have some juice.” Junhong passed him a small pouch of juice from the bag of snacks he had somehow acquired from the cafeteria and leaned back to enjoy the view of the rest of Inner Central City.  “Nobody ever told us we couldn’t come up.”

“I don’t know, maybe they thought that it goes without saying that climbing a three story building would be prohibited,” Jungkook retorted, taking the drink anyways.

“They’re training kids and teenagers into the military; they should have thought of that.  And at least we’re not getting wasted.  Or laid,” Junhong pointed out blithely.

“That’s against the rules, hyung!  And we’re all underage.  Nobody does…those…here.”

“Sure.  You’re so innocent, Jungkookie.”

“Wait, they do?! Hyung!”

Junhong smiled angelically and didn’t answer.

“We all sleep in the same room!” objected Jungkook indignantly, clawing at his ears.  “Arghh…”

The pair stayed on the roof until lunchtime, and after lunch wandered down to watch the lower Grades at their quarterly evaluations.  Jungkook couldn’t remember ever having so much spare time – it had always been class, evaluations, eat, sleep, for as long as he could remember, even before he’d been recruited to the Overwatch Academy.  And now, having graduated, he couldn’t shake the surreal sensation of not having anything to do and never again having classes.

“Look at the level 14s, Jungkookie,” cooed Junhong, breaking into his musings.  “Aren’t they so adorable going through their forms?”

Jungkook cast a disinterested glance at the group in question, then whipped his head around to glare at Junhong.  “They’re my age, hyung,” he pointed out with annoyance.

“Exactly,” Junhong hummed, smirking.

“Fifteen years old is not cute.”

“Mhmm.”

“You’re one year older than me.”

“Exactly.”

Jungkook growled, and Junhong laughed and ruffled his hair before Jungkook jerked away.  “And never forget it,” the older boy added with a content smile.

“Who’s that?” wondered Jungkook idly, motioning towards a group of higher level students.  They were probably Grade 17 or 18 given the general level of mastery they seemed to have over their martial arts skills.  One boy in particular, smaller, looked to be around Junhong’s age yet had just managed to put his much larger opponent on the mat.

“The next young up-and-comer, probably looking to take your place since you’ll no longer be here to defend it,” Junhong offered offhandedly, smirking at Jungkook’s annoyed glance.  “Okay, okay.  You’re in luck.  I just happen to know him since he came from my Sector.  Kim Han…min? Bin?  Something like that.  My age, but culled a couple years before me.  Really just cares about his family.  Saw him drawing his mom and sister once during class.”

Jungkook frowned disapprovingly.  “His family would be fine as long as they did their jobs; he shouldn’t be getting distracted in class thinking about them,” he pointed out. “Besides, he’ll probably end up in the Overwatch, and they’re just Workers.  It’s not like he’ll see them again.”

Junhong was quiet for a long time, watching the matches below.  “Yeah,” he said finally, quietly.  “I guess not.”

There was a white envelope atop a pile of neatly folded clothes waiting on his bed after dinner that evening.  Jungkook’s footsteps faltered briefly when he caught sight of the innocuous package, and Junhong bumped into him from behind with an annoyed “Hey!” that trailed off at the sight of an identical package on his own bunk.

“Ah,” the older boy said distantly, as Jungkook rushed forward to snatch his envelope.  “Our sentences.”

Jungkook ignored him as he ripped open the envelope.  The top page held a letter “to the Graduate,” with basic information regarding his new uniform, identification tags, and registration in the Overwatch database with his tracking chip.  It followed with a reminder of his duties to the nation, his responsibilities, and the honor he had been bestowed with.  He skimmed the page eagerly, then flipped to the next page.

It was his Overwatch assignment.  He skimmed over his name, registration number, date of birth, and read directly down to his placement.  He’d been assigned to Division 222, Unit 1, Beta Team.  He vaguely recalled that this Division was the same as that of the Watchers who helped with their testing.  For the next three quarters, he and his new Division would be stationed in West-2.  Jungkook definitely did not blanch, but having the fifth worst Sector for his first assignment was more than a little intimidating.

“Unit leader: Level 7 Watcher Gong Minji,” Jungkook read aloud. “Team leader: Level 5 Watcher Tuan Yien.”

Beside him, amidst the tattered scraps of his own envelope, Junhong’s head snapped up.  “Are you Division 222 1-B too?” he asked incredulously, eyes wide.

Jungkook couldn’t quite hide his grin as he nodded and waved his assignment at Junhong, who reciprocated with glee.

“And did you see who our Keeper is?” Junhong demanded, his tone probably as close to reverent – or perhaps terrified – as was possible for the older boy.

Jungkook glanced back down at his paper, and his eyes widened.  “Kim Seokjin.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Sunggyu resigns himself to even more bad news the moment he sees Howon’s (Hoya, hyung!) face as the latter steps into his office.  He closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, one hand rubbing slowly at his face, as the younger man drags up one of the guest chairs and tosses a data tablet onto the desk between them._

_“We’ve got more Unregistered activity in Sector West-2,” Hoya announces brusquely, forgoing his usual snide comments on Sunggyu’s general eaten-by-cats-and-coughed-back-up appearance.  “Division 67 was able to detain one after a raid on the grain production plant, but around two hours into custody he broke out and escaped.  Also, Sungjong says the labs noticed higher serotonin levels in the Workers in the Sector, but as of yet there’s no actual directed movement of unrest.”_

_Sunggyu glowers at his adoptive brother through one eye.  “Why couldn’t they just hold onto him?” he snaps, frustrated.  “Why is it that every time there’s a prisoner they just slip back through our hands like smoke?”_

_Howon scowls briefly before his expression settles into its usual half-placid, half-bored countenance.  “We’ve tried injecting the tracker chips into the captured Unregistered and knocking them out, but whoever helps the prisoners escape has also figured out how to cut the tracker chips out too.  Probably killed some of their own doing it too.”_

_Sunggyu sighs and reaches for the tablet, flicking through its contents.  “I suppose you’ve considered that perhaps our own Watchers might be accomplices?”_

_Howon kicks up his feet to rest his shoes on Sunggyu’s desk, and Sunggyu glares but doesn’t complain. “Of course, there’s always that possibility.  But all the Watchers of that team in charge of guarding the facility and the prison, Division 67 7-Delta, have all gone through the training program and have shown no signs of rebellion before.  Their tracking chips haven’t registered them anywhere they shouldn’t be, and database medical records show no suspicious chemical or hormone levels.  There shouldn’t be any motivation for them to help the Unregistered, or even to willfully disobey their orders.”_

_“This team’s division will be returning to Central City when the quarter ends, right?” Sunggyu asks, and Howon nods.  “Have 67 7-D report to the research labs and see if Sungjong and Myungsoo’s teams can get anything out of them.”_

_“Yeah, hyung, I was going to.  I’m not going to let a potentially rogue team run amuck, especially not in your precious Inner Central.”  Hoya rolls his eyes._

_“Don’t even let them in Inner Central,” Sunggyu retorts, flicking a pen at Howon and missing completely.  The pen bounces and rolls to a stop behind Howon’s chair.  Howon glances down at the pen and shoots Sunggyu an unimpressed look. “The Outer City labs are perfectly capable of handling this.  Also, for their next few rotations after the rest quarters, keep them on low-risk assignments.  North-6, maybe.”_

_Howon heaves a long-suffering sigh.  “And would his majesty like a turkey dinner as well?” he asks sarcastically._

_“Roast beef, mashed potatoes, red wine,” replies Sunggyu, not even looking up.  “Who’s replacing Division 67 in West-2 this rotation?”_

_“I’m putting in Division 222,” says Howon, with all the satisfaction of a sated cat._

_Sunggyu pauses, thoughtful, in his browsing of the tablet.  “Isn’t that…?”_

_“Keeper Kim Seokjin’s Division, yeah,” Howon finishes, smug._

_“Ah, good,” Sunggyu says distantly, distracted.  “Kim Seokjin…he should be able to quell our wayward Sector.”_

_“If his past work is anything to judge by, I’d agree.” Howon stands and plucks the tablet from Sunggyu’s hands, easily avoiding the older man’s indignant swipes.  “I’ll send you these reports in a bit, hyung,” he calls over his shoulder as he saunters towards the door, “but I’m very busy, you know, Overwatch to watch over and all.  I’ll give the kitchen Workers your dinner order.”_

_Sunggyu slumps back into his seat and scowls at Howon’s retreating back. “Why can’t there be just one wayward Sector,” he grumbles, eyeing the data on the screens around him detailing the rising trend in serotonin from Workers’ chips, mounting losses by Unregistered raids, and a smallest-in-history graduating Overwatch Academy class.  “…if only we had twenty of Kim Seokjin,” he mutters, pushing his chair from his desk.  Armed with a dark frown, he strides from his office._

_“Come to ask the tiger’s help in repairing your nest?” Jaejoong drawls, eyes alight with lazy amusement, as Sunggyu shoulders past the older man through the doorway and into the mansion without an invitation._

_“You’re more of a collared housecat,” Sunggyu snaps, stomping up the stairs towards Jaejoong’s study as the older man closes the front door behind him and follows him up the staircase._

_“Ouch,” Sunggyu hears the deposed ruler say mildly as he throws himself into one of the armchairs.  The room is has not changed since his last visit, but this time, a tall lamp throws light and shadows across the room, and no sunlight peeks through the heavy drapes.  “But, true,” the man admits, smirking, as he saunters through the door and sinks into the opposite armchair.  “I am a luxury pet now, nothing more.”_

_Sunggyu glares balefully, slouching down into the plush cushions.  Jaejoong, with perfect posture and impeccably dressed in a pressed charcoal suit with a deep red shirt despite the late hour – at least an hour past the curfew for the Workers – raises one delicate eyebrow at the scrutiny.  “So,” Jaejoong says deliberately. “How may I serve our esteemed leader tonight?  Perhaps,” he waves a hand at the small table which, to Sunggyu’s annoyance and some incredulity, holds another bucket of fresh ice with a bottle of what he suspects to be champagne and two glasses, “a drink?”_

_Ignoring the implications – that Jaejoong may actually know or suspect when Sunggyu intends to visit, or else replaces the ice in the small bucket every hour or so – Sunggyu scowls darkly and waves away the offer with an impatient hand.  “I need your…insight,” Sunggyu says reluctantly, glaring at the man, who merely returns it with an amused stare from his lazy, tawny eyes._

_“Oh?  Are the twigs falling from your nest in the wind, little bird?” Jaejoong smirks, and Sunggyu, worn down and on edge from weeks on end of dealing with the increasingly negative reports, surges to his feet and stalks forward to loom over the seated man._

_“This is no laughing matter!” Sunggyu snarls.  He watches the amusement vanish and a sudden wariness spring into Jaejoong’s eyes before being carefully hidden behind a veneer of casual indifference.  “If this nation falls apart, I can promise you’ll be the first to go,” Sunggyu threatens.  “If you value your life, you’d do well to ensure this nation’s survival!”_

_Jaejoong raises both hands in a placating gesture, and Sunggyu reins in his smoldering temper to return to his chair as the older man half-bows in apology.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sunggyu sourly notes that the movement is somehow still graceful._

_“My apologies.  I did not intend to offend you…or insinuate that the fall of the nation would be…amusing.”  Jaejoong raises an eyebrow sardonically, as cool and unruffled as though Sunggyu’s outburst had never happened.  Instead, Sunggyu wonders if that’s a gleam of satisfaction he sees in Jaejoong’s eyes from his loss of control, and he regrets losing his temper.  Sunggyu grits his teeth and tries to claw back together the tattered remains of his composure._

_After a brief moment where Sunggyu attempts to glare a hole through Jaejoong’s wall to avoid the older man’s increasingly curious stare, he finally relents.  “We’ve been having…issues…with insurgents,” he admits grudgingly.  “Supply raids, mostly.  No overt attacks on our Watchers or Workers.”_

_Jaejoong regards him with a thoughtful look.  And because Sunggyu really doesn’t enjoy asking advice from his mortal enemy and a man he overthrew, he adds, pettily, “So at least you can tell me what not to do.”_

Jungkook’s head clunked against the side of the truck painfully as the vehicle lurched over a bump, and he gritted his teeth.  He clutched his equipment pack a little tighter and discreetly studied his companions.  Junhong had crammed in next to him, and on his other side was another Level 2 Watcher who had enthusiastically introduced himself as Kim-something and promptly fallen asleep despite the uncomfortable ride.  About half of his new team perched on the hard seats in the back of the light armored truck, either dozing lightly or attempting conversation drowned out by the noisy rumbling of the vehicle over uneven ground.  The other ten members were in an identical truck just behind them, both part of the endless caravan of the Divisions deployed to the Cardinal sectors.  

They hadn’t stopped since leaving Inner City, many hours ago, when it was still dark.  At one point, they’d each been given a pair of ration bars and a canteen of water had been passed around.  Now, from the rays of sun streaming in from the high, flat windows set up in the wall of the truck, it was rapidly approaching sunset.

At last, the truck slowed its rattling pace. Rather than abandoned, half-demolished remains of huge buildings, Jungkook could make out chain link fencing in the dying light.  They lurched to a stop, and Jungkook slid into Junhong, who awoke from a light doze with a start.

“Are we there?” the older boy mumbled groggily.

“I think we’re in the Sector,” Jungkook muttered back uncertainly, peering as best he could from his seat.

“We’re at the entrance checkpoint,” Jungkook’s other seatmate cut in helpfully.  “From here we’ll go to the assigned housing block, find a partner, and pick one of the rooms assigned to our team.”

“Ah,” Jungkook said eloquently.  “…thanks.”

It took all of his effort to resist the urge to jump up and stare out the window, or even climb right out of the truck as it began rolling forward once again.  Jungkook hadn’t been to one of the outer sectors since he’d left for the Academy eight years ago.  He caught Junhong’s amused eye as he practically vibrated in his seat, and scowled, forcing himself to still and glare at the other Watcher.

“So eager,” Junhong murmured with a smirk as he turned again to regard the limited view the window offered.

Perhaps half an hour later, the truck rolled to a halt once more, and the driver and the Watcher riding shotgun opened their respective doors.  The two Watchers closest to the rear doors threw them open, and the rest of the team collected their packs and streamed out of the vehicle.

Jungkook forcibly swallowed his anticipatory grin, slung his oversized backpack over his shoulder, and followed his team out.

As soon as his boots hit the cracked pavement, Jungkook blinked, hard, as two things hit him like a concrete wall: first, the stifling, oppressive heat; second, the pervasive stench of rotting fish.  He moved aside automatically for Junhong, who shoved him impatiently from behind, as he wrinkled his nose.

He turned to scan their surroundings.  Their truck had parked in a mostly flat expanse of asphalt surrounded on all four sides by what apparently would be their housing complex.  The building appeared to be in a similar state of disrepair as the parking lot, with chipped, peeling paint and mysterious stains on the walls.

Some of his disappointment must have showed on his face, because when he turned to Junhong, his friend had a sardonic grin on his face.  “Bit of a letdown?” he asked.  “Trust me, this is probably the nicest place in the Sector.”

Jungkook frowned, sending his eyes roving around the parking lot again.  Five other pairs of trucks and a scattering of other vehicles were parked at different areas around the complex.  Junhong’s eyes followed his.   “Well, one of them,” he amended.  “It looks like just our unit is here.  The rest of the Division are being housed somewhere else, I guess.”

“Hey, rookies!”

Jungkook turned.  The rest of their team had clustered together, staring impatiently as he and Junhong gawked.  Tips of his ears turning red, Jungkook hurried over.

“Glad you could join us,” snarked the Watcher who had yelled at them earlier – the same Watcher Jungkook had sparred against in his final evaluation.  Jungkook opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could, the Watcher slapped his shoulder playfully.  “I’m just kidding!  But seriously, pay attention next time.”

An older teen with ruffled hair and a slight build clapped his hands together to get their attention.  “Okay, guys.  For you two new kids, I’m Tuan Yien, Level 5 and team leader for Unit One’s beta team.”  He was interrupted by raucous cheering led by the snarky Watcher from before.  “Kayee…Kayee, seriously…” He looked torn between amusement and exasperation, and finally just waited until Kayee stopped cheering before continuing.  “Anyways, when we’re with Alpha Team, Liu Yiyun is technically in charge, and when we’re with the Division, it’s Gong Minzi who’s the unit commander.  In this team, Min Yoongi and Kwak Aron are in second in command.”  He waved a hand at a pair of older teens, one unusually pale and dour-looking, and another who looked good-natured.  “I’m sure you’ll figure everyone else out later.”

Jungkook blinked at the sudden influx of new names and studied the faces of their owners, determined to commit them to memory to avoid what was sure to be an awkward situation where he couldn’t remember how to address them.

“Everyone else knows the drill.  We’ve been assigned rooms 12-22, so pair up, pick a room.  Instructions for exactly what our duties will be during this rotation will be sent out to your phones later.”  He paused, evidently trying to remember if anything else needed to be said.  “Yeah…if there’s anything else, I’ll send you guys messages.  Okay…go ahead.”

Jungkook turned to find Junhong, but before he could, a hand landed on the nape of his neck.  He stiffened and turned his head to see that the Level 4 Watcher, the pale one – Min Yoongi – had grabbed him and began steering the hapless recruit in a different direction.

“Not so fast, brat.  It’s your first deployment, so you stay with me; I’ll be your mentor.  Team rules.”

Jungkook’s heart sank.  He glanced around desperately for Junhong, but Yoongi continued manhandling him to an unclaimed room.  “You can look for your friend later,” he grumbled.  “It’s not the end of the world, brat.  You can room with him next deployment.”

The older teen released him once they reached the door and fumbled for his phone.  A few swipes later, he’d pulled up what looked like a barcode, which he held up to the scanner on the wall next to the door.  It beeped.  He swiped his left forearm across the scanner as well, and the door unlocked with a click.  Shifting his equipment pack, Yoongi shouldered the door open and shuffled into the room.

Jungkook made to follow him, but before he could, Yoongi had closed the door in his face.  Nonplussed, and blinking at the chipped wood now only a few centimeters from his face, he tried the doorknob.  It was locked.

He heard Yoongi’s irritated sigh from the other side of the door.  “You have to register your chip, brat.”

Jungkook stared uncomprehendingly at the door before he remembered what the older Watcher had done.  He fumbled his newly-issued phone from his pocket, turned it on, and then paused again uncertainly.

“It’s in your mail,” Yoongi’s voice drifted from the other side.

Jungkook’s ears turned red again as he opened the mail icon, flicking through messages until he finally found the message labelled “HOUSING CONFIGURATION RESET” and scanned the enclosed barcode and the chip in his arm in quick succession.

His new roommate had sprawled in a well-worn armchair across from the door, and judging by the equipment pack in the adjacent room, had already claimed one of the two beds.  Jungkook willed his face to stop burning as Yoongi raised an eyebrow sardonically.  “Congratulations,” he drawled.  “You made it.”  Jungkook didn’t respond.

Yoongi didn’t seem inclined to move, so Jungkook inched past cautiously to examine their new quarters.  A small sitting area held a pair of armchairs, a sofa bed, a table, and a pair of wooden chairs.  Just past the table was a small kitchenette that opened directly into the sitting room.  A doorway about halfway between the far wall and the front door led to the bedroom, with two each of beds, cabinets, small dressers, and bedside tables.  Jungkook unslung his equipment pack onto the bed closest to the door, since his roommate had claimed the other, before peering into a small but serviceable bathroom.

Flipping the light switch illuminated the bedroom with an eerie yellowish glow, complemented by the dying rays of light from the window.  Jungkook opened his backpack and methodically began transferring his belongings, most of them standard issue to Watchers, to the cupboard and dresser closest to his bed. About halfway through his self-appointed task, he heard someone knock on the door.

“Jungkook-ah, get the door,” he heard Yoongi’s voice float from the other room.

Jungkook frowned briefly but padded obediently to the other room, past Yoongi, who hadn’t moved from his comfortable sprawl in his chair, and opened the front door.

His eyes widened as he came face to face with his division commander, Kim Seokjin.

“Hi,” Seokjin said brightly, with a charming smile.  “You’re one of the new recruits, right?”

Jungkook’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, and he darted a quick, panicked glance at his mentor for help.  Seokjin continued examining his face with a slight frown.  “You’re…Jeon Jungkook!” the Keeper declared.  “Right?  I remember seeing you in the Academy.”

Jungkook jumped slightly and nodded quickly, eyes fixated on Seokjin’s face, and bowed belatedly.  “I…ah…”

“Let him in, brat, don’t just stand there.”  Yoongi’s admonishment caused Jungkook to jump again – he could see Seokjin hiding a smile – and he quickly stepped aside to let the Keeper in.

Yoongi toed a chair closer to his for Seokjin.  “Hey, hyung,” he yawned, as Seokjin dropped into the armchair with a sigh.  Jungkook stood gaping, frozen in place with the door still open as his eyes darted between Yoongi and Seokjin.  Yoongi’s eyes flicked to him.  “Jungkook-ah, go ahead and head down to the cafeteria,” he drawled.

Jungkook nodded and all but tripped as he walked out.  “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh with him?” he heard Seokjin say as he closed the door.  Yoongi’s reply was muffled.

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook turned in a daze as he heard his name called and was nearly bowled over by Junhong, who slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Are you going to the cafeteria?” he asked brightly.  “I am too,” he continued at Jungkook’s nod, practically frogmarching the smaller boy towards a larger building at the edge of the complex.  “It’s going to be so strange, sharing a room with someone else.  I mean, not including you.  And these rooms are really big.  I wonder what food we’ll be having.  I heard they usually only serve food until midday, but they had the Workers stay later today since we just moved in to cook dinner.”

Jungkook let Junhong’s usual one-sided conversation wash over him as they entered the cafeteria.  Circular tables dotted one end, while long tables with benches spread over the rest, and one wall held a buffet of various foods.  Jungkook helped himself to a tray of sticky fried rice, red glazed ribs, a bowl of soup, and a small scoop of some sort of potato dish.  He followed Junhong as the elder piled his tray with perhaps twice as much food as Jungkook had.

“Hyung, can’t we come back for seconds?” he asked, eyeing the tower on Junhong’s tray.

“Yeah,” Junhong replied, “but this way I don’t have to come back as fast.”  He brightened and whirled towards Jungkook.  “Hey, look! It’s Hongbinnie hyung and Sanghyuk hyung!”  With one hand balancing his food precariously and the other latched around Jungkook’s wrist, he pulled the smaller boy to a round table where two other new recruits already sat.

“Hi!” greeted Junhong, sounding thrilled.  Jungkook smiled awkwardly at the two older boys and bowed slightly.  The older of the two, Hongbin, grinned back and waved for the two of them to sit down.

“I didn’t know you two were assigned here too,” Hongbin commented, raising an eyebrow at the two younger boys.  “Sanghyukkie and I are in Alpha team.”

“Jungkookie and I are Beta team,” Junhong returned around the rice in his mouth.  “How are your mentors?  Mine is Jung Daehyun, Level 3; he’s awesome!  He talks a lot and is really friendly and loves food.  He’s pretty chill and laidback.”

“I have Lee Jaehwan as a mentor.  He’s a 4.” Hongbin dimpled.  “He messes around a lot, but he’s pretty competent.  I think I’m lucky to have him.”

“What about you, Jungkookie?”  Junhong nudged him with an elbow.  Jungkook set down his chopsticks and opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

“My mentor is…ah…quiet,” Jungkook allowed, furrowing his eyebrows.  “He’s kind of sarcastic and grumpy…and not particularly friendly.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Jungkook couldn’t help but glance around the room furtively to make sure Yoongi was, in fact, not in the cafeteria and about to beat his ass for badmouthing him.  “His name’s Min Yoongi, Level 4.”

“Seems…scary,” Junhong said doubtfully, eyeing Jungkook.  “Are you…ah…okay with him?”

Jungkook shrugged morosely.  “I don’t think he’ll do anything to me.  And it’s not like you can ask to switch mentors or anything.”  The other three members of the table winced collectively.  “That would be just awkward.”

“I completely understand you,” Sanghyuk cut in empathetically.  “I used to think you were kind of intimidating, Jungkook-ssi, since you went around beating people up and not talking – “ Jungkook frowned at the unfair and exaggerated assessment of his character “—but seriously, my mentor…the hyung that doesn’t talk much is really scary.”

“His mentor’s Jung Taekwoon, Level 4,” Hongbin added helpfully.  With a quick glance around the room to make sure the coast was clear, he continued, “He doesn’t really talk.  Really good at beating people up.  Makes you want to shrivel up and hide when he glares at you.  Or off yourself, so he doesn’t kill you in a much more painful way.”

Sanghyuk shuddered.  Hongbin patted his shoulder reassuringly.

“Apparently my mentor is friends with the Division commander,” Jungkook blurted.

Hongbin glanced up with wide eyes.  “Kim Seokjin?  Really?”

Jungkook nodded and swallowed another spoonful of soup.  “He knocked on the door and my mentor told me to let him in.  And then to get out.”

“My mentor said the Keeper likes our Unit best out of the entire Division,” Junhong offered helpfully.  “And our team best out of the Unit.  He hangs out with Alpha team too sometimes, but he spends a lot of time with Beta.”

“Daebak,” Sanghyuk muttered.  Hongbin nodded in agreement.

Since Jungkook was reluctant to return to his room with his grumpy mentor (and possibly another awkward encounter with the Division Commander!), the meal passed far too quickly, even with the two extra helpings Junhong returned for.

The sun had set as Jungkook dragged his feet as he wandered back to his and Yoongi’s room, Junhong having peeled off back to his own room – no doubt carefree, Jungkook thought a tad melodramatically.  Junhong didn’t have to worry about interrupting his intimidating mentor and Keeper’s conversation.  Jungkook couldn’t help but hesitate in front of the door a few minutes.  He bit his lip, and after dawdling with indecision as the dying dusk grew shadows under the eaves, he finally swiped his forearm along the scanner.  The door opened with a pleasant beep, and Jungkook poked his head into the room.  Empty.

Feeling a little foolish now, having waited outside an empty room, he shuffled inside and closed the door, toeing off his boots onto the small shelf in the entryway.  The living room was dark, but the light was still on in the bedroom.  His half-unpacked backpack was untouched, and his mentor’s belongings likewise had not moved at all.  Jungkook sighed, fatigued from spending such a long time in the truck, and mechanically forced himself to finish putting his things away.  When that was finished, he flopped on top of his covers and closed his eyes.  He knew he should wash up, but couldn’t muster the energy to move.  “I’ll just rest for a bit,” he reassured himself.

 

Jungkook’s pillow was roughly jerked from beneath his head and flung full force into his face.  Abruptly startled awake, Jungkook wrestled with his pillows and blankets and sat up blearily.  He blinked at his mentor’s retreating back, groggy, as his mind struggled to comprehend the unfamiliar surroundings.

“…Sunbaenim?” His voice was hoarse and thick with sleep.

“Get up, brat,” his mentor replied, mild annoyance and tiredness seeping into his tone.  “If you read the message Yien-hyung sent out, you’d know we’re supposed to report to the truck in forty minutes.  You’re not even up yet, I’d guess you haven’t washed up for a couple of days, and you need to hurry if you even want to eat.”

Jungkook, panicked, flailed his way free from his blankets, grabbed his things for a shower, and stumbled into the bathroom.

“I’m getting breakfast,” he heard Yoongi’s voice from the other room.  “Don’t forget anything.”

Fifteen minutes later and with hair still dripping from his shower, Jungkook fumbled to simultaneously buckle on his utility belt and stuff his feet into his boots.   He had a sinking feeling he was forgetting something as he paused in the doorway and ran a hand over his belt and shoulder holsters, but everything seemed to be in place.  He brushed off the niggling doubt in favor of his growling stomach and hurried to the cafeteria.

After hurriedly scooping rice, fish, and a bowl of soup onto his tray, Jungkook glanced around the room to see if he could spot Junhong.  To his misfortune, just as he’d located his friend, he also noticed his mentor staring at him from two tables over.  The older Watcher waved his hand at the seat across from him.  Jungkook hid his wince – it was too late now to pretend he hadn’t seen Yoongi.

Yoongi eyed him intently as he sat down cautiously.  Jungkook began eating a little self-consciously, but considering he had less than ten minutes to eat, he wasn’t about to starve himself due to a bit of discomfort.

“Unless you have it in your pocket…” Yoongi began, breaking the (uncomfortable, in Jungkook’s opinion) silence.  Jungkook blinked, halfway through his soup.  “…you seem to have forgotten your helmet.”

Jungkook froze, staring with wide eyes as Yoongi hefted his own padded helmet onto the table, its tinted visor glaring at Jungkook.  With an embarrassing, strangled noise in his throat, Jungkook half-rose with a forlorn stare at his remaining food.  With an annoyed sigh and a pinched expression, Yoongi reached across the table to grab Jungkook’s sleeve and yank him back down.

“Sunbae…nim...?” Jungkook queried, as Yoongi pushed himself back from the table, his own helmet swinging from his hand by its straps.

“I’ll get it, you brat,” Yoongi grumbled, stomping towards the door.  “And call me hyung or something.  You’re making me feel old.”

Jungkook gaped wordlessly for a few seconds.  Was his mentor being…nice?

True to his word, Yoongi tossed Jungkook’s helmet at his chest when their team congregated in the parking lot.  Jungkook caught it with both hands and stammered out a quiet thanks, to which Yoongi waved a hand carelessly.

On autopilot, Jungkook clambered in the back of the Jeep Yoongi steered him to, clutching his helmet to his chest.

“You always have to wear your helmet on duty, you brat, so don’t forget it next time,” Yoongi lectured from the front seat.  Jungkook bobbed his head obediently, though he suspected his mentor couldn’t see him.  “Your helmet is a very important part of your uniform,” the older teen continued, propping his boots up on the dashboard.  “It gives you anonymity.  Makes you just one of the Overwatch.  Kills your individuality.  Or something like that.”  He tipped his head back to stare at Jungkook’s startled face with half-lidded eyes.  “You got that, kid?”

“Ah…yeah…” Jungkook nodded furiously.  Yoongi snorted and rolled his head back around to face front.

Fortunately for Jungkook, before the resulting silence could stretch even further, Junhong bounded into the vehicle from the other side, and another teen with a smile tugging his lips and lively eyes slid into the driver’s seat.

“Yoongi, don’t go around scaring the new kids,” admonished Daehyun.  He twisted around to grin cheerfully at Jungkook, who responded with an unenthusiastic half-smile.  “I’m Jung Daehyun, Level Three.”

“Which means I outrank you.  You can’t tell me what to do,” Yoongi grumbled back lazily.  “And I’m not scaring him.”  His head twisted slowly to stare at Jungkook, who stared back.

“I’m Junhongie’s mentor; I heard you guys are friends,” Daehyun added, ignoring Yoongi entirely.

“Yeah,” Junhong chirped, ruffling Jungkook’s hair, to his irritation.  “We hung out in the Overwatch Academy,” he added helpfully.

“Ah…yeah,” Jungkook replied belatedly, off beat, and bowed quickly.  “I’m Jeon Jungkook, nice to meet you, sunbaenim.”

“Call me hyung!  Don’t tell me this lazy bastard is making you call him sunbae still.”  Daehyun punched Yoongi in the shoulder, to which Yoongi aimed a lackluster, irritated swat in retaliation.

“I’m not,” Yoongi scowled, narrowing his eyes to glare at Jungkook again before turning back to Daehyun.  “In fact, I told him not to.  If he calls me that again, he’s probably doing it to annoy me or something.  Right, brat?”

Jungkook jumped and hastily stammered out, “Ah, yes.  I mean, no.”  He could feel Junhong’s curious stare and flushed a bit. “I mean, I won’t do it again, su—ah, hyung…nim…”

“Don’t worry so much,” Daehyun reassured.  “Yoongi’s really just all bark and no bite.  Well, not that much bark either.  Growl, maybe.  Talking is troublesome for him.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and flapped a hand at the windshield.  “Just drive, Daehyun.  Everybody’s leaving without us.”

Junhong leaned in close to Jungkook’s ear.  “Is he really that bad?” he whispered.  Jungkook shrugged uncomfortably.

To Jungkook’s dismay, the open-air SUV unfortunately seemed to be heading straight for the origin of the rotting fish stench that had thoroughly permeated the air of the entire sector.  The roads were twisted and uneven. On either side of the pathway, cracked concrete and wood structures loomed, enclosed by chain link fences.

Their destination, as it turned out, was a fish rearing and processing plant.  Coils of barbed wire lined the tops of the fence as they approached the perimeter.

“Get your helmets on, brat, Daehyun’s brat,” Yoongi tossed backwards, fitting in an earpiece before tugging his own headgear on.  Jungkook exchanged a glance with Junhong as he followed suit.  “Alpha and Beta Teams from Unit One have been assigned to guard the seafood production plant between the hours of 0800 and 1600.  This is considered an easy assignment, because for the most part, production occurs during this time; it is the only shift that does not need to supervise the entrance and exit of Workers.  You two,” Yoongi twisted around, and despite the shaded visor, Jungkook felt as though he could see Yoongi’s accusatory glare, “will be following myself and Daehyun, respectively.  Our duties include supervision of workers, and distributing commendations and reprimands as necessary.”

Jungkook stared at the factory grounds as their vehicle approached the main entrance.  At the front of the building, several intimidating structures stood erect from the ground, and Jungkook recognized them as the scanners that checked in Workers as they arrived.  A number of tables were scattered alongside them.    He could see a small number of grey-clothed figures standing motionless or pacing in front of the scanners, but what caught his eye were the figures in orange, kneeling on the ground with their arms held above their head.

“Hyung….” Junhong began hesitantly, from beside Jungkook, eyes locked on the same scene.  “Why…are those workers, ah, not working?”

“Policy,” Daehyun responded, after a pause, his voice hesitant through Jungkook’s earpiece.  “However late a Worker is, they must be punished by ten times the amount of time they were late.  Workers were to report to the factory at 0600, and since it’s 0800 hours now, these Workers must all have been at least twelve minutes late.”

Jungkook couldn’t tear his eyes away.  Even as the vehicles carrying each of the teams sharing the assignment entered the compound of the factory, his gaze was fixated on the skeletal figures in baggy orange clothing, motionless with heads down or trembling slightly from the strain.

“Hey.  Brat.”  Jungkook blinked as Yoongi’s helmet suddenly filled his vision.  “Come with me.  I need to show you the ropes.”

Jungkook turned his head automatically to look for Junhong, and Yoongi’s irritated sigh filtered through his earpiece.  He heard a click as Yoongi switched to a private channel.  “Are you two attached at the hip or something?  Conjoined maybe?  Mentally reliant on each other?  Look, brat, you’ll see him plenty during training or drills or off hours.  And probably later during the shift, but first, you need to come with me.”

“Yes, hyungnim,” Jungkook responded automatically.

Jungkook winced as he imagined Yoongi rolling his eyes.  “Look brat, just call me hyung.  Hyung.  That’s it.  Seriously.  Now follow me.”

Jungkook sidled after Yoongi, through the scanners that beeped ominously – “So the Overwatch has official record of you showing up for your shift, kid,” – and past the huddled figures swathed in orange on the ground into the building itself.  

Despite the helmet, which had helped a little with the smell outside, the full force of the stench hit Jungkook like an armored truck. He automatically took a step back before recovering and following his mentor deeper into the factory.  Jungkook’s eyes scanned the factory as they continued up a staircase to a walkway overlooking rooms with tanks teeming with fish, tended by the swarming Workers.  Jungkook’s head turned to keep another room in his field of view, housing many-tentacled creatures writhing in shallow basins.  When they descended another staircase, Jungkook could only see the backs of the orange-clothed Workers as they cleaned and sliced snowy-fleshed fish.

“Come here, brat.”  Yoongi beckoned with a jerk of his head, removing his handheld scanner from his belt and stalking up to one of the Workers.  

Jungkook followed obediently and watched as the older teen tapped the side of his helmet once to activate the speaker.  Yoongi

shook the Worker by the shoulder, who turned and immediately bowed when he saw the Watcher’s grey uniform.  “Show me your chip,” Yoongi ordered, and the man proffered his bare forearm.  Yoongi scanned the chip, gruffly ordered the Worker back to work, then turned to show Jungkook the digital screen on the back of the scanner.  Displayed at the top of the screen was the Worker’s personal information – name, identification number, occupation, and current ranking; at the bottom were two large, labelled buttons. “Two options.  Reprimand or Commendation.  If you want to do a reprimand…”  He tapped the left, and a list appeared.  Yoongi swiped a finger up and down.  “This is the preset list for offenses.  Pick one and the appropriate punishment will automatically be assigned.  Stealing, slacking, poor quality work, everything else.  If you want, you can enter a custom offense and punishment.  It’s really all up to you. Same goes for the commendations.”  He cancelled the reprimand and slipped the scanner back into its holster.  “Just make sure you do your job.  Questions?”

“Ah…not right now,” Jungkook answered.  

Yoongi heaved a long-suffering sigh.  “Well, tell me if you do. Really.  If you see one of them slacking, just take the initiative.  Try it out for yourself and all that.”

Just their presence seemed enough to encourage Workers to do their jobs.  Each time Jungkook and Yoongi entered a new room, the Workers stiffened and scurried to work even harder, avoiding their eyes to focus on their assignments.  When they left, hollowed eyes followed their path even as bone-thin hands continued their frenzied tasks.

Jungkook followed Yoongi into yet another room on a circuit he couldn’t quite make sense of, but that Yoongi assured him would become their regular patrol path.  As they passed through, he saw a young teen – perhaps his or Junhong’s age, begin trembling so hard she dropped the half-scaled fish she was holding.  Jungkook pretended not to see.  It made him uncomfortable – wasn’t that his job?  Reprimanding the Workers that made mistakes in their tasks?  Somehow, however, he couldn’t muster the courage to approach the girl.  She would probably fall into the bottom 25 percent of her own accord anyways, he assured himself.  Still, the uneasy feeling would not leave.

Jungkook was a good soldier.  He would follow his orders.

He turned abruptly on his heel, tuning out Yoongi’s somewhat irritated, “What are you doing, brat?” and advancing on the Worker girl.  She was taller than him, but watched his progress with lowered but wide and terrified eyes.  “Show me—” his voice cracked, “Show me your chip.”  With unsteady fingers, he numbly followed the procedure Yoongi had shown him earlier.

He couldn’t meet the girl’s eyes as he finished and picked his way back to Yoongi.  Eyes trained on the floor, he avoided his mentor’s hard stare and stiff posture as the pair left the room.

He did his job.  He followed his orders.  He did the right thing.  But why had the uneasy feeling not left?

If anything, he felt worse.

 

“So...how was your first day of work, Jungkookie?” Junhong waltzed in through the open apartment door as Jungkook glared blankly at the ceiling.  His gaze slid over to the older boy, who held what looked like a bag of raw chicken and equally uncooked vegetables.  Something green, at least.

Jungkook didn’t reply.  Junhong must have seen something like an answer in his lack of response, because he smiled a little bitterly as he ambled past to the kitchenette and proceeded to make an astounding amount of noise.

“You guys already have a lot of food here,” Junhong noticed as he opened what sounded like the refrigerator and various cabinets.  “Your fridge unit’s stuffed!”  

That was news to Jungkook.  Yoongi must have been exceptionally prepared and stocked up on ingredients the first night they’d arrived.

“Hey, do you know how to use these, Jungkookie?” the question floated over.  Jungkook rolled his head around to see Junhong examining a pair of metal pans curiously.  “The cafeteria won’t be open until tomorrow morning…and my mentor said we’re supposed to cook for ourselves.”

“I don’t know how to cook,” Jungkook grumbled, heaving himself from the chair to join Junhong at the stove.  “That’s a Worker thing.  It’s not like they taught us how to make food in the Overwatch Academy.”

Junhong frowned at a small bottle of oil.  “What do we do with this?”

“Put it on the chicken?” Jungkook suggested dubiously.  He rooted through the bag of ingredients and liberated an onion.  “With this, maybe?”

Junhong tilted his head.  “Do we…cut that first?  Or cook it first and then cut it?”

“I think we have to take the peel off, right?  Or do people eat that?”

“I don’t think so.  Onions are just kind of yellow.  Not this crunchy brown thing.”

“Okay.”  Jungkook searched through a series of drawers with one hand, onion in the other, until he came up with a large knife.  As Junhong wrestled with the plastic packaging encasing the raw chicken—and promptly sprayed whatever liquid happened to be in the bag with the meat all over the floor – Jungkook set the onion on the counter uncertainly and hovered over it with the knife.  The onion wobbled a bit, doing little to assuage his concerns.  Nevertheless, Jungkook bravely attacked his objective with no small amount of determination.

“Ah…Jungkookie…are you crying?”  Junhong’s face was suddenly far too close to Jungkook’s stinging eyes.

“No,” the smaller Watcher snapped, failing to blink away the moisture in his eyes.  He reached up with his free hand to wipe the tears from his eyes.  “Ah, hell!” he yelped as the pain intensified.  He dropped the knife onto the counter, wiping at his eye with the back of his hand.  “Hyung, make it stop, aahh!”

He raised his head towards Junhong and was met with the contents of a glass of water.  Blinking and dripping – he glared, his eyes red but no longer as irritated.  “Thanks,” he grumbled sarcastically.

“Did the onion do that to you?” Junhong asked warily, setting the glass back down on the counter and eyeing the offending half-chopped vegetable.  It still rocked gently on its round side.

“…yeah.”

“Maybe you should have cut it with the flat side down,” Junhong suggested dubiously.  “More stability.  And then whatever was doing that to your eyes will be on the counter instead.”

Jungkook glared.

Five minutes later, the two stared hesitantly at the chicken in the pan, oil poured on top and way too many unevenly chopped onion chunks on top of that.

“So…do we turn the stove on now?” Jungkook suggested at last.  “Low, high, or somewhere in the middle?”

“We should start slow,” Junhong suggested, twisting the knob to “low.”

Five minutes later, nothing had happened except the wrong burner had turned red.  Junhong had moved the pan back onto the burner that was on, but there seemed to be no noticeable difference.

“Maybe we should try high?” Junhong twisted the knob all the way to the left.

Finally, the smell of cooking meat filled the kitchen, and Junhong sat back with a sigh.  “It’s finally working!” he proclaimed optimistically.

Jungkook poked the chicken with a pair of chopsticks. “Hyung…hyung, I think it’s stuck.”  The chicken had indeed congealed itself to the bottom of the pan, and the onions were impeding his efforts to flip the chicken over.  His struggles became increasingly desperate as the smell of something burning wafted into the air.  Junhong crowded in beside him, armed with a spatula, and together they finally managed to turn the chicken over.  Unfortunately, the oil they had poured on top of the chicken caused drops to splatter all over the stove, and a few drops elicited yelps from both Junhong and Jungkook.  Even worse, the entire top of the chicken was charred black.  Some of the onions were similarly charred; the others were still raw.

It was bland.  It was half-burnt and at the same time maybe not quite cooked enough.  The onions were…crunchy.

“Well…we tried,” Junhong offered, as the pair poked at their subpar meals.

Jungkook sighed, pushing the onions from one side of his plate to the other.

And to make things worse, of course Min Yoongi walked in the door right that second with Kim Seokjin on his heels.

“Oh my god, did you set something on fire, brat?” Yoongi coughed, bumping into the commander in his attempt to get out of the smoky room.

Jungkook jumped, sort of bowed, and promptly used the greeting to try to hide under the table.

“No, we were just cooking, hyung.  Hi, Keeper,” Junhong interceded cheerfully.

“Oh.  Hello,” Seokjin grinned at the pair, as behind his back Yoongi muttered, “Since when were you so familiar with me, brat’s friend?”

“Well, we’ll let you get back to your meal,” Seokjin interceded delicately.  “Yoongi and I can just find somewhere less, ah, smoky.”  The door closed behind the two with a click.

Jungkook groaned into his knees.  Junhong snickered.

 

 

Work was work.  It was his job, maybe not easy, but routine.  Uncomfortable, but still comfortable at the same time.   He was the Overwatch, after all.  He was the law.

So maybe he turned a blind eye on the smallest of offenses that he was supposed to dock.  The small things wouldn’t make a difference in the long run, anyways.

Junhong provided perhaps the greatest relief in the stressful monotony, whether it was tapping on the window at night to take him wandering outside the housing complex in the concrete city on their off hours or attempting yet another disastrous culinary creation.  Yet sometimes Junhong too would be absent, claiming his mentor had dragged him off for some bonding activity or another.

Jungkook’s own mentor was absent almost entirely during the hours they were off.  Jungkook never heard him come in during the night, yet he was there every morning to throw a pillow at his young partner’s face to wake him up.   He couldn’t tell if his mentor actively disliked him to provoke the standoffish behavior or if he really did care at least a little under that gruff exterior.

All in all, it was a kind of numb normalcy.  It couldn’t last.

 

“It’s Moving Day tomorrow,” Team Leader Yien told the gathered Beta Team gravely.  “Our team has been assigned, ah, cleaning duty.  All Workers assigned to Sector promotion or demotion should move by 23:59 hours tomorrow.  After that, we’re to round up any of the Workers who haven’t moved.  We’ll be in teams of two; coordinates of any Workers who haven’t moved out will be sent, and you will track down each of the Workers who have refused to go.  Expect resistance; these will probably be Workers demoted a Sector and who are desperate not to go.”  His calm eyes swept over the team, taking in stoic or nervous expressions, and he cleared his own throat a little uncomfortably; it was the longest Jungkook had ever heard the soft-spoken leader talk at one time.  “Alright,” he continued awkwardly.  “Well, it’s the last day at the factory this quarter, so please keep that in mind when you do your rounds today.”

The atmosphere at the factory was unusually subdued.  The Workers halfheartedly toiled at their tasks, and even Jungkook – despite what the rulebooks said – couldn’t bear to issue demerits.  Not when the next day, half of these Workers would no longer be in the Sector.

“You go patrol with your friend today,” Yoongi had told him gruffly earlier that day.  “Last break before Moving begins.  Shouldn’t be too busy today.”  Then his mentor had shoved him off in the direction of his friend before towing off an equally confused Daehyun into the factory.

So now Jungkook and Junhong wandered aimlessly through the many rooms of the seafood plant, scanners slack and com links silent as they supervised just enough to keep the Workers efficient.

Jungkook was not especially eager for conversation during that shift.  Perhaps Junhong miraculously took the hint, because for once, he wasn’t chattering mindlessly as he normally would, regardless of Jungkook’s moods.

Jungkook’s dark eyes glanced briefly over a group of Workers deboning a deep red fish, but as he turned away, an unusual flicker of movement caught his attention.  His head snapped back, and he glared as he advanced on an older worker with streaks of white peppering close-cropped hair.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” Junhong whispered at Jungkook.

Jungkook ignored him, stalking towards the Worker.  “Just what,” demanded Jungkook, in a dangerous voice, “do you think you’re doing?”  The Worker, frozen, did not resist as Jungkook grabbed him roughly and yanked up the flimsy orange shirt to reveal a small fish tucked into a cloth pouch at the Worker’s waistband.  “Stealing,” Jungkook hissed, “is a crime punishable by imprisonment, removal of one’s hands, or death.”  With vicious purpose, the young Watcher yanked his scanner out of its holster.  “Show me your chip.”

He never got the chance to mete out the Worker’s just punishment.  Junhong grabbed him by the arm, and although Jungkook knew he could probably throw off the taller boy, he let the other Watcher drag him out of the room.  Once out of all the workrooms, Jungkook let Junhong pull him into an abandoned corridor before he ripped Junhong’s hand from his elbow, twisted around, and slammed the other boy in an armlock against the wall.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jungkook snapped, fury boiling almost over the edge.  “Why the hell would you stop me from – ”

“From ruining someone’s life?” Junhong sounded defeated, rather than defiant.

“That Worker,” Jungkook hissed, “committed a crime.  A serious crime.  He would deserve – ”

“Did you see the man?” Junhong retorted.  “Practically a skeleton.  He just wanted some food.  Clearly, he wasn’t getting enough from the rations.”

Jungkook was practically vibrating in repressed anger.  “You can’t overlook a crime like that, hyung, you can’t just stop me from delivering a punishment like that!  Just because he was hungry?  Just what you’ve done – letting him off like that – that’s a crime too!”

Junhong ripped himself out of the younger Watcher’s lax grip and spun to face him.  “So? So what?”  Suddenly intent, he glared right back at Jungkook.  “Are you going to report me, Jeon Jungkook?”

Jungkook stared at him wordlessly, unable to string together a coherent sentence.

Junhong sent one last fiery stare at Jungkook.  “I didn’t think so,” he snapped, and turned to stalk back out to the workrooms.  Lost, Jungkook watched him go.

 

Moving Day.  Jungkook hadn’t spoken to Junhong since the incident at the factory the previous day.  Jungkook’s mind replayed the situation over and over, steaming.  Why was Junhong so…soft?  Soft enough to go against everything the Academy had taught?

“Hey, brat,” Yoongi called, breaking him out of his thoughts.  Jungkook blinked, glancing up at the older Watcher over the pair’s dinner plates.  “Grab my handphone, will you?  Dresser, first drawer.  Then meet the team out front in ten; we’re getting our Moving Day assignments.”  The pale Watcher rolled his eyes and tossed Jungkook a tiny key.

Jungkook nodded hesitantly and almost tripped over the bench as he made his way out of the cafeteria.  He glanced over at Junhong sitting with his mentor, but tightened his lips and looked away as he stepped out the door and headed back to the room he shared with his mentor.

The sun had set long ago, leaving the walk back illuminated by dim yellow lights and the faint glow of the moon.  As he entered the room, he flicked on the lamp to light his way to Yoongi’s dresser.  It was a bit unnerving, going through the older teen’s things, even with his permission.  Jungkook approached the piece of furniture cautiously, eyeing it as though it might bite.  He pulled open the top drawer and snatched his hand back immediately.  When nothing unnatural happened, he reached in more boldly.  Sure enough, at the top of a small stack of crumpled papers was his mentor’s phone.

He was about to close the drawer again, but curiosity overwhelmed him.  Against his better judgement, he pulled out a few of the top papers.  One had lines of script with multiple cross-outs, and the only distinguishable pattern about them seemed to be that the last word of quite a few of the lines rhymed.  The story it spelled out sounded bitter, angry, almost.  Jungkook was unnerved.  The next paper had similar scrawling on it.  The last was a note.  A letter, maybe, addressed to “Suga” and signed “RM.” Hastily, guiltily, he skimmed through the contents of the letter.  Pickup site.  Not enough supplies.  Difficulties with new influx…

A rap on the door made Jungkook jump guiltily and shove the papers back into the drawer and slam the drawer shut.  “Hey, hurry up, brat!” he heard his mentor’s muffled call, and he grabbed Yoongi’s phone and scrambled back outside.

He handed both the key and the phone to Yoongi, not meeting his gaze, and shifted a little as they joined the huddle of their team.  From his brief once-overs of the members of the group, Jungkook could see strained and harried lines in the faces of the other Watchers through the dim streetlights.

“Okay, everyone,” Watcher Yien said tiredly.  “The commander will be sending assignments out soon.  Each of you will be in normal patrol pairs, but you’ll instead be responsible for apprehending the Workers who have failed to report for Sector demotion.  Your phones will be connected to their trackers, so you have all the information you’ll need.”  Their leader ran a hand through his unruly hair with a sigh.  “All right, people.  You know what to do.  Let’s get this done.”

The small crowd dispersed slowly.  Yoongi flipped through windows on his glowing phone as he abled towards a Jeep with Jungkook in tow.  For a few moments, they sat in silence with the headlights on as Jungkook mirrored his mentor and pulled out his phone to check their assignment.  Jungkook examined the profile of their first target, a man in his early twenties, who had lived in Sector West-2 for most of his life – perhaps the constant nature of his job had lured him into complacency, and now desperation led him to hide from his rightful demotion.  Their job was to retrieve the Worker and escort him, forcibly if necessary, to the gate leading to the next sector down: South-2.

With a growl, Yoongi tossed his phone down and threw the vehicle into drive.  Jungkook glanced over warily as they lurched out onto the uneven pavement.

“Yesterday was the day the Overwatch allows the Worker Class to forget the rift that divides us from them.  The day Watchers are allowed to reclaim a little compassion.  Humanity,” the older teen continued with a sarcastic bite.  “Today…today is the day that the wall between the Workers and the Watchers becomes a mountain.”

Jungkook shifted uncomfortably.  “There is always a divide, hyung.  It’s our job.”

He couldn’t read the twist of Yoongi’s lips at his comment.  “Yeah, brat.  Our job.”

Jungkook wasn’t keen to break the uncomfortable silence that fell for the remainder of the trip.  He stared out the window as their destination gradually came into view – a large, square cement building with rows of doors and high-tech locking mechanisms that belied the ancient appearance of the housing complex itself.  The vehicle rumbled to a stop amid the loose gravel.  Yoongi threw the Jeep into park with a sigh.

“Alright, kid, let’s get him.”

Jungkook shuffled after Yoongi as the older Watcher bypassed the ground floor for the second level, referencing his phone every so often.  He was uncomfortably aware of the frazzled faces peeking out through the muffled glow behind grimy windows, eyes that flitted to his armored figure before fleeing back to the recesses of their respective rooms.  Eventually, Jungkook stopped when Yoongi rapped on one of the doors.  “Lee Sangmin-ssi.  Lee Sangmin ssi!”

No response.  Jungkook shifted on his feet uncomfortably as the minutes ticked by.

Again, Yoongi heaved a long-suffering and regretful sigh.  “Alright, brat.  We’re going in.” He drew his gun, and as Jungkook fumbled his out as well, flashed his chip to the scanner.  With a happy beep, the door unlocked, and Yoongi kicked the door open and advanced into the room gun first, Jungkook at his heels.

The room was spartan, with a single tattered futon haphazardly folded in one corner, a chipped wooden table holding a portable gas stove, and not much else.  A small refrigerator box sat next to the table, and a sink protruded from the wall adjacent to the darkened window.   A single frame containing a sheet of glass hanging on the wall was the only sad imitation of decoration in the room, and its digital fourteen percent blinked in red.   

“Bottom fourteen percent,” Yoongi muttered under his breath.  “Must have been shocked, poor bastard.”

The older teen stalked forward, eyes darting into the corners of the room, and poked his way into the bathroom, enclosed by a curtain.  Jungkook followed as Yoongi turned away and caught a glimpse of a small toilet next to a showerhead before he was following his mentor out of the cramped room.

“Get your phone out and pull up the tracker, kid,” Yoongi ordered, and Jungkook holstered his gun to comply as they clattered down the stairs.  “Chances are he’s not too far from here.  They don’t tend to have anywhere to go.”

Jungkook pulled up the tracking program with a few swipes.  “It looks like he’s still in this housing block, hyung.  Do you think someone else here is sheltering him?”

Yoongi laughed grimly.  “They’d have to be very stupid or very brave.  The punishments for aiding and abetting a rule-breaker are…very severe.”  He turned to survey the building tiredly.  “Alright, brat, I’m on point.  He’s probably not armed, but be careful and stay behind me.  Just tell me where to go.”

“The tracker’s not very accurate,” Jungkook said meekly.  “But ah…it looks like he’s around the eastern corner?”

He followed Yoongi as he advanced cautiously, weapon first, for the side of the building.  “Lee Sangmin-ssi?” the older Watcher called.  “Lee Sangmin-ssi.  Please come out immediately.”

Silence.

Then, a rustling noise that quickly cut off.

“He’s there,” Yoongi mouthed to Jungkook.  “Stay back but get your baton out.”

Yoongi holstered his gun and advanced towards the huge containers of refuse, braving the rancid stench that intensified with each step.  “Lee-ssi.  It will be better for you if you come out now.”

Jungkook swallowed, a few steps behind Yoongi.

“Lee-ssi.”

A rustling, and a skeletal man stepped out, despair and desperation written on his gaunt face.  “I…” the man began, eyes darting to the two Watchers.  “I…I can’t go…” he trailed off.

“Hey.”  Yoongi’s voice was gentle, catching Jungkook off guard.  Rather than the gruff, bitter exterior, he talked as if coaxing a wounded animal into the open.  “Just come with us.  Nothing bad will happen to you if you come out now.  We’ll just get you over to the Sector you need to be in and that’s it, okay?”

The man’s eyes darted between Yoongi, Jungkook, and the other direction.  “I can’t…I can’t leave here…this is my home!  I’ve never left here, I can’t!”

“Calm down, calm down,” Yoongi soothed.  “Don’t panic.   It’ll all be alright, really.  You’ll do okay.  You’ve done okay your whole life, yeah?  Come with us.  I promise nothing else will happen to you.  You’ll be fine.”

Warily, Jungkook watched as his mentor coaxed the Worker out step by step, distracting the man with soft words when his eyes flashed to Jungkook’s baton with fright.  Yoongi cuffed the man, grabbing him in a secure but gentle grasp when he panicked, flailing, until he calmed down.  Firmly but not unkindly, he maneuvering their prisoner into the back of the Jeep.

“Alright, kid, can you drive one of these things?” Yoongi turned to him expectantly, and Jungkook unwittingly did his best impression of a wide-eyed rabbit.  “I guess not.  Sit in the back with Sangmin-ssi, then.”

Jungkook glanced at Yoongi uncomfortably, but the older teen was already turning to climb up to the driver’s seat.  With just a moment’s hesitation longer, he heaved himself up to the seat, avoiding eye contact with the Worker handcuffed next to him.

As the vehicle made its way to the gate checkpoint, Jungkook observed the man discreetly out of the corner of his eye.  He was taller than both Jungkook and Yoongi, but still not very tall.  Jungkook could see veins bulging from skeletal hands, pale skin stretched over some bones and sagging over wiry muscle.  The man’s eyes had sunken into his head, ringed by dark shadows, and the perhaps five centimeters of hair that had grown back since his last haircut looked limp and greasy.

For some reason, this made Jungkook especially uncomfortable, this man in tattered clothing and dead eyes.  His heart clenched with relief, but strangely, a little guilt as they shuffled the man through to the Watchers at the checkpoint.  Having delivered their cargo,  Jungkook reclaimed his seat in front with his mentor.

“Where’s the next one, brat?” Yoongi asked, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he slumped behind the wheel again.

Jungkook gave him the coordinates from his phone, suddenly wary at the return of the gruff, grumpy persona that had been absent when they met the Worker.  

They were just passing the seafood factory where they patrolled during the rest of the quarter when there was a dull boom, followed by a heavy rumbling.  Jungkook grabbed the door handle as the car lurched dangerously, and Yoongi swore as he fought to keep the car from swerving into the fence.  They screeched to a halt as Yoongi parked haphazardly by the side of the road.

“What was that?” Jungkook breathed, shooting Yoongi a panicked glance.

Yoongi didn’t answer immediately, staring at the cloud of smoke that had arisen in the west.   “I don’t know,” he admitted at last, then pulled out his phone.  “Message from Team Lead Yien:  Unconfirmed event, be on alert but continue assignments as ordered.  Message from unit commander Minji:  Zeta Team deployed to investigate; all other teams maintain current assignments.”

His mouth was a grim slash.  “Alright, kid,” he muttered, kicking the SUV back into drive.  “We’ll have to get back to it, I guess.”

Jungkook eyed him dubiously.  “That’s it?  We’re not…going to do anything about it?”

Yoongi shrugged as best he could without losing control of the vehicle.  “Nothing we can do.  We’ve all got our orders.  A team’s been sent to check it out.”  His eyes stared almost unseeingly out the windshield.  “And if we’re lucky, nothing big happened.”  His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile.  “And if not…well…the Cardinal Sectors are always a warzone on Moving Day.”

It was emotionally draining, retrieving the Workers that tried to escape demotion.  Some were hysterical, some as reticent as their first ‘task,’ some tried to fight back.  Each time, Jungkook watched with a subdued incredulity as Yoongi treated the Worker with gentle caution, herding each to the next gate.

The sun had risen and set again by the time Jungkook and Yoongi finished their final assignment and pulled into the housing complex parking lot.  Jungkook jumped clumsily from the Jeep and made to stumble to their door, but Yoongi caught him by the back of the neck. Jungkook cringed away from the touch, but his mentor ignored it and instead steered him bodily for the cafeteria.

“Brat,” Yoongi muttered, practically dead on his feet himself.  “Food first, then sleep.”

Jungkook entered the cafeteria first and mindlessly began filling a plate with rice.  The news was playing softly, projected on the back wall.

“And in North-5 as well, there was an incident today in which several renegade Workers attempted to retaliate against their rightful detainment…”

Yoongi prodded him in the back when he stared vacantly at the trays of food for a brief moment, so he made his way to the next table and served himself a spoonful of bean sprouts.

“It appears that the Unregistered in South-1 showed increasing presence with a raid on a factory…”

Jungkook set down the spoon and picked up the next, for some sort of stewed meat.  Beef, maybe.  Pork?

“And especially terrifying, an Unregistered attack in West-2 today involved an explosion felt by the entire Sector.  Two Watchers, Jung Daehyun, 19, and newly graduated Choi Junhong, 16, were killed in this brutal attack.”

He put the spoon down and reached next for the potatoes.  Behind him, Yoongi inhaled sharply.

“These Watchers were part of Keeper Kim Seokjin’s much lauded Division 222 and Unit 1’s Beta Team.  The unit’s Zeta Team was sent to investigate and confirmed the deaths of both Watchers.”

Jungkook kept spooning the potatoes onto his plate.  Distantly, he could make sense Yoongi’s unnatural stillness behind him.

“The Council has taken particular interest in this incident and has promised to track down and deliver the appropriate actions against the Unregistered terrorists.”

His plate was a small mountain of potatoes.  Absently, he heaped another spoonful on top.  Strangely, his vision was blurring.

“Keeper Kim Seokjin, who is renowned for his work in previous years, has sworn to avenge the deaths of his subordinates and take down the culprits responsible for this heinous deed.”

The spoon scraped against the bottom of the tray.  There wasn’t anything left.  Something seemed to have grabbed ahold of his chest and was squeezing.   He coughed.  It didn’t help.

“Keeper Seokjin expressed his deep interest in this case, as he had been close to Level 3 Watcher Jung Daehyun and was friendly with Level 2 Watcher Choi Junhong.”

A pair of hands came up to cover up Jungkook’s ears.  Through watery eyes, he glanced up to see Yoongi’s face like stone as the older Watcher stared steadily into his eyes. With the same gentle carefulness that Jungkook had seen Yoongi use on the Workers they’d been responsible for retrieving earlier that day, the older Watcher reached out to pry the serving spoon from his limp hand.   Jungkook let him.

Numbly, Jungkook put one foot in front of the other as Yoongi guided him from the cafeteria.  His chest was constricting strangely.  He couldn’t breathe.  There was a strange hitch in his chest.  He blinked, and his sight cleared briefly before blurring again.  Hot moisture burned its way down his face.

They were in the room, suddenly, and he was sitting on his bed staring blankly at the wall.  His mentor’s expressionless face filled his vision as Yoongi pushed a pill into his mouth, following it up with a glass of water.  Jungkook drank obediently, swallowing the pill, and when Yoongi pushed him down with a hand on his chest, Jungkook fell back and sank into a dreamless oblivion.

 


	3. Chapter 3

_“It was delicate, but I took care of it,” are Myungsoo’s first words as he strides in cockily and spins a chair around to sit backwards._

_Sunggyu sets down another one of his ever-present tablets and regards the man clad in all back with a raised eyebrow.  “So it was your doing, then?  Had it occurred to you to, I don’t know, ask me first?”_

_His brother scowls.  “Hyung, some things are time-sensitive.  Sometimes there are things I gotta take care of myself.”_

_The older man sighs, scrubbing a hand over his eye tiredly.  “Well, I won’t argue with your methods, that’s your area of expertise.  And it gets results,” he allows grudgingly._

_Myungsoo smirks.  “Hell yeah, it does.”  He leans forward.  “Especially since I took care of it personally.  Made sure it was done right.  That’s one Sector that won’t be a problem for a while.”_

_Sunggyu nods and picks up a tablet to toss at Myungsoo, who fumbles briefly before catching it.  “There’s another problem for you to take care of.  All the information is there for you, whatever research Sungjong’s and Howon’s teams compiled.”_

_“He wants to be called Hoya, hyung,” Myungsoo interjects boredly, already flicking through the tablet’s contents._

_Sunggyu rolls his eyes.  “Thirty-some years old and still such a brat.  Just get that taken care of, Myungsoo-yah.  It’s important.”_

_“Isn’t it always,” the other man grumbles, standing to spin his chair around and sprawl into it more properly.  “You know the other hyungs don’t approve of my methods, especially Dongwoo-hyung.  They say I should moderate, you know, be a bit less aggressive in my approach.”_

_“I put you in charge of the…cleaning…for a reason.  You’re the one who gets some kind of result--you have for years.”  Sunggyu pauses to shoot Myungsoo a suspicious glare.  “…you’re not just fishing for compliments, are you?  You just want me to tell you you’re doing good?  Is that what you wanted?”_

_A noncommittal shrug.  “Just wanted to let you know.  The hyungs and Sungjong are getting a bit antsy.  Especially since there’s been more unrest and we’ve been cracking down harder, you know?”_

_Sunggyu scowls, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.  “There’s no other way.  Did you want to solve this with flowers, maybe? A picnic?”_

_Myungsoo rolls his eyes.  “Don’t take it out on me, hyung, I’m the one doing the heavy hitting.”  Like a cat, he rises gracefully and stalks out the door, waving the tablet as he leaves.  “See you, hyung.”  He flashes one more knowing stare at Sunggyu and vanishes._

_And Sunggyu is left, once again, with his troubled thoughts as company. “Running a country is really not all it’s knocked up to be,” he mutters to himself, disgruntled.  “Be a leader, they said.  It’ll be fun, they said.”  His gaze turns blank.  Rather than staring at the screens surrounding him, he stares past them. “Make all the hard decisions,” he muses aloud, “so nobody else has to.”_

_“I have four brothers, you recall.” Jaejoong’s velvety voice is distant, soft._

_And Sunggyu, once again, is his solo audience, ensconced in an armchair with an untouched glass of champagne next to him._

_“I loved them.  Trusted them.  Protected them.  I shared everything with them.  When I was elected to the highest office, I gave them equal part in the decisions.  But gradually, you see,” he pauses, a faint smile on his lips but with his tone colored by bitterness, “it was a job that required much time and effort, as I’m sure you have noticed.  Decisions are much more easily and quickly made by one person to be carried out by a multitude.  We argued.  I won, every time, but it was never a genuine victory.  It was little things at first, but eventually each one of them left my side,” he trails off, turning to stare out the window._

_Silence descends, and Sunggyu can’t bring himself to break it.  The distant tick of the hallway clock breaks the quiet, but he is captivated by Jaejoong’s bowed profile silhouetted in the window.  An eternity yawns, and Sunggyu feels more and more like an intruder to something left unsaid yet so private and intimate.  It feels as if the man he considered his worst enemy is now literally baring his soul before him._

_“You have a vision.  You decide you know best, that you are making the best decisions, but you don’t notice the earth disappearing beneath the clouds on your throne high up in the sky.”_

_There’s just a hint of roughness when Jaejoong finally continues.  “There is nothing more seductive – and dangerous – than being listened to.  It consumes your life, builds barriers around you.  Soon you will find yourself suddenly alone, but,” and his smile edges into something harsher, feral, “consumed by the intoxicating power that you cannot give up.  Because you believe that you know best, that what you are doing is for the best, and that if you just wield that power you can fix everything.   You are blinded until you fall.”  Another pause.  Quieter, “Until I fell.  And everything I built crumbled.  Because regardless of my decisions, whatever choices I made and chances I took and plans I gambled on…a pillar cannot hold a building on its own, especially not when it cannot see its own cracks and weaknesses and corruption.”_

_Jaejoong makes a visible effort to collect himself, and after a moment, regains his dry smirk.  “Perhaps the decision that led to my downfall was trying to have you hunted down like a stray dog, Kim Sunggyu.”_

_Sunggyu scowls, the lingering empathy evaporating increasingly rapidly, and is further incensed when the older man merely chuckles._

_“I didn’t mean to offend,” the deposed ruler reassures, raising his own half-full glass in Sunggyu’s direction.  “It’s simply that violence breeds violence.  The havoc we wrecked on this nation in our little contest of bloodshed created a kind of hell on earth for all our citizens caught in the middle, no?”_

_“What is this that you’re calling it a ‘contest’?” Sunggyu spits, glowering.  “As if the lives of our people are trivial? Some game to play with, is that it?”_

_“Oh, no.” The older man’s voice is sincere, but Sunggyu can’t read his eyes.  “Lives are never trivial.”_

_Sunggyu is not the least bit appeased, but Jaejoong isn’t done.  “Perhaps you should examine how it is you see your people.  People.  Not objects.  But people like you and me, we move people around like pieces on a chessboard.  It’s in our nature.”_

_“Don’t make this sound like some sort of twisted game!” Sunggyu snaps, incensed.  “When I make decisions, it’s for the benefit of all the people.”_

_Jaejoong turns away from the window and sets his glass down on the heavy teak desk with a sigh.  With liquid grace, he sinks into the desk armchair, facing the irate man.  “Allow me to ask you a question, will you?” he interjects abruptly.  “There has been increased violence, has there not?”  His tawny eyes fixate on Sunggyu’s intensely.  “Acting out, thievery, assaults on your guards…?”_

_Sunggyu exhales a short huff, annoyed.  “Yeah.  The Unregistered have been picking up their activity as of late, with increasingly frequent attacks in especially the outer sectors –”_

_“And I suppose you have been dealing with these incidents with due force, no?” Jaejoong interrupts him mid-sentence, for which Sunggyu glares._

_“Yes, of course,” Sunggyu snarls. “My Overwatch does not tolerate attacks without due retaliation.  If I don’t pin these insurgents down, they’ll multiply; it’s the cancer in this nation.  I have to get them wiped out as soon as possible.”_

_Jaejoong sighs, suddenly slumping wearily into the chair with his head resting elegantly in one hand.  He looks up beneath the hair falling over amber eyes--eyes that seem much older than his youthful appearance._

_“And that is where you are wrong.  These insurgents are not the cancer.  They’re merely a symptom of the sickness.”_

 

Jungkook felt like a wind-up toy.  A classmate of his used to have one, before he’d gone to Inner Central and the Overwatch Academy, and they’d watched the small rendition of what may have been a duck propel itself across the table over and over until the teacher took it away and punished them all by having them kneel along the wall of the classroom.

He woke when his mentor shook him in the morning.  He did his patrols dutifully, but numbly.  He ate whatever Yoongi shoved on a plate in front of him.

It was an empty sort of existence, he supposed.  He couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

“Jungkook.  Jungkook.  Brat.”  Jungkook blinked and refocused on his mentor when Yoongi snapped his fingers in front of his eyes.  His face was hard, but his eyes held some sort of empathy.  Jungkook didn’t particularly care to see it.  “Keeper wants to see you.”

Jungkook glanced around the training gym.  His team and Alpha Team were sparring or individually working on their own forms.

“Hey.”  Yoongi waved a hand in front of his face, and Jungkook flinched back a little.  “He’s in his room, brat, go see him.”

Jungkook nodded obediently, automatically turning and making his way out of the gym.  The weather had been hot and humid during the day, but today clouds had begun to form a soft blanket over the sector.

Kim Seokjin’s door was identical to the rest, propped slightly open with a triangular wedge.  Jungkook knocked, and entered when the Keeper’s soft, “Come in,” drifted through the door.  There was a table set up, an armchair at each side.  As appropriate as a Keeper, Seokjin’s clothing was all black, but comfortable – he was out of uniform.  His sweatshirt was too big, but it made him look friendlier.  Not that Jungkook felt more comfortable with him.  Perhaps he would have, if he could feel something.

“Close the door, Jungkook-ssi, and sit down,” Seokjin smiled slightly.  There was a teapot and a pair of steaming teacups on the table, and beside them, a single paper file.

Jungkook nudged the wedge out of the way with his foot and let the door click closed behind him.  He stepped deliberately to the armchair and sank down across from the Keeper.  Seokjin fixed him with a level gaze.  Jungkook met it with eyes that weren’t quite focused.

“Jeon Jungkook,” Seokjin smiled warmly.  “How are you doing?”

Jungkook hesitated.  “I’m doing fine, sir,” he responded dully.

The Keeper’s stare was searching.  He pursed his lips, visibly reluctant to continue as he flipped open the folder and took a deep breath.  “Well, Jungkook-ssi.  If that’s so, there’s some administrative business to take care of.”  He looked up expectantly, but Jungkook didn’t say anything.  “It seems we have a leadership position in your team that needs filling.  Given the recent loss of Level 3 Jung Daehyun, it seems you are qualified for a promotion.  Congratulations.”

He didn’t move for a few moments before shifting his eyes slightly to the triangular pin that Seokjin placed on the table between them.  “I…” his voice was rough with disuse.  “I don’t want it,” he forced out at last.

Seokjin didn’t speak for a while.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  “This came highly recommended from higher up.”  The Keeper craned his head down to try and meet Jungkook’s eyes.  “Believe me,” he said softly, “I wanted to give you more time.  I didn’t think you were ready for this.  If I had a choice…if you had a choice…”

Jungkook didn’t look up.  Slowly, he reached out with one hand to take the pin, and as his hand closed over the silver triangle, Seokjin’s hand closed over his.  Startled, Jungkook glanced up and their eyes locked.  

“Jungkook.”  Seokjin’s eyes were earnest, unchanged from that day five, six years ago when he picked up a crying seven-year-old off the floor of the Academy.  “It’s okay to mourn,” he said softly.  “I know you’re hurting.  Your best friend died.  You don’t have to hide it all the time.”

Jungkook exhaled raggedly.  Hot moisture was springing to his eyes again, and to his dismay, refused to be suppressed.  “We fought, the day before,” he managed to say, before interrupting himself with a harsh half-sob, half-laugh. “The last thing I said to him.  I yelled at him.”  Jungkook gritted his teeth and jerked his head away, away from Seokjin’s sad, warm eyes.  “And now, he’s –” his voice broke, and Jungkook desperately hated himself for his weakness, but he couldn’t stop himself now that the dam was broken “– he’s dead, he’s gone, he won’t ever know that I, I, he…”

And now, as much as he wanted to keep going, his body betrayed him and he just couldn’t get the words he was trying to force out with the wracking sobs.  He bowed his head to try and hide his tears from his commanding officer, his Keeper of all people.  But he felt, vaguely,Seokjin’s hand on his head briefly before clasping both his hands in a warm grip.

Jungkook was a tearstained mess.  He wasn’t sure exactly how long he was there, sobbing on his Keeper’s desk like a baby.  But when he lifted his head an indeterminate amount of time later having more or less recovered his composure, Seokjin’s unyielding gaze was still fixated sympathetically on him.  He groaned, dropping his head to the table.  As delicately and as best he could, he extracted his hands and wiped off his face as he tried to gather the tattered scraps of his composure.  He heard Seokjin rise, bustle around the small kitchenette, but he didn’t look up until Seokjin had poured both of them a fresh cup of tea.  

“That’s good, Jungkook, mourning is good,” Seokjin said quietly, offering him a cup of tea.  He took it.  “But, Jungkookie, that doesn’t mean you should cut yourself off completely.  You need a reason to live, yeah?  What are your dreams?”

“I…I don’t dream,” Jungkook said blankly, sipping his tea.  It was a little lukewarm, but still good.   It soothed his stinging throat.

“Well,” Seokjin sipped his tea delicately, “how about goals?”

Jungkook hesitated.  “To…be a Keeper, I guess,” he said, although his heart wasn’t in it.

Seokjin tipped his head, considering the younger teen with a searching glance. “No…no, I don’t think that’s it,” he mused. “I guess you’ll just have to find one,” he said with finality.  “Now, in the meantime, do make an effort to, well, live.  Yoongi is mourning too, you know, and from what I see, he’s been having to support you as well.  It’s taking a toll on him, Jungkook.” Jungkook looked away guiltily.  “Yoongi and Daehyunie were together since the Academy and they’ve partnered since then. He’s taking it hard as well, but having to take care of you too…it’s making it harder on him.”

“I understand, sir,” Jungkook said softly.

“Call me hyung,” Seokjin said gently.  “There’s no need to be so formal.  And take this.”

Jungkook extended a hand automatically, and the triangular pin dropped into his waiting palm.  He glanced up reluctantly.

“Take it,” Seokjin repeated.  “You’re a Level 3 now.”

“I don’t want this,” Jungkook whispered.  Seokjin thinned his lips and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” Seokjin said sympathetically.  “I can make it so you don’t have to take up any of the duties until the next quarter, when the Overwatch is due to send out two new Level 2’s to fill the spaces on your team.  But you will have to take up the post.  The higher-ups won’t take anything less.”

Jungkook nodded, pocketing the pin.

“I will see you soon, Jeon Jungkook,” Seokjin said serenely, as Jungkook rose to leave.

Jungkook nodded again awkwardly as he rose and made his way from the Keeper’s room.  The meager weight of the pin sat heavily in his uniform pocket.    

The clouds had thickened while he was in Seokjin’s room.  Sparse droplets of rain drizzled down, splattering on the pavement beyond the overhang as Jungkook wandered aimlessly back to his and Yoongi’s shared room.  Automatically, he put his arm out to the scanner, and it beeped.  The door swung open.

He came face to face with a chubby-cheeked kid with an armful of fresh and packaged food standing in his doorway.

Bemused, Jungkook blinked.  The kid was his height, early teens maybe, and that was all he registered before the kid said, “Oh, shit,” and threw the food in Jungkook’s face before taking off in a run across the parking lot.

Jungkook ducked the onslaught of produce and drew his gun instinctively, taking off after the culprit.  He was fast, but Jungkook was faster; as they sprinted headlong through the dilapidated sector, Jungkook gained steadily.  With a sharp burst of speed, he herded his quarry into a dead end alleyway and slowed to a walk.

The boy grinned nervously as he backed into a corner, eyes crinkled into little crescents.  “I, ah, think there’s been a misunderstanding, haha,” he said as he held his hands up in surrender.  “Don’t kill me.  Please.”

Jungkook eyed the boy.  His clothes were tattered, but in fairly good condition: a pair of ripped jeans worn at the knees, a white t-shirt smudged with dirt, and a leather jacket just a little too big instead of the standard orange Worker jumpsuit.   He lowered his gun and holstered it.  “I’m not gonna kill you, kid,” he muttered as the rain dripped down his hair and beneath the collar onto his neck.

The boy’s mouth immediately dropped open in indignation. “Um, excuse you!” the kid snapped, apparently forgetting his fear and taking an accusatory step forward.  “Who are you calling ‘kid’?  I’m pretty sure I’m older than you!”

Nonplussed, Jungkook eyed the boy.  “You’re an Unregistered, aren’t you?” he asked, interested. “I’m supposed to capture you.  Especially if you’ve been stealing.”

The kid crossed his arms.  “Well, not all of us have access to unlimited amounts of food.  As far as I know, it’s just you Overwatch.  How else do you think anyone can survive? And you’re distracting me!” he spat, taking another step forward.  “I’m definitely your hyung!”

He reminded Jungkook of an angry chipmunk.  “I’m fifteen,” Jungkook retorted automatically.  “There’s no way you’re older than me.”

“I’m seventeen!” the kid snapped smugly. “You have to call me hyung, you little bastard!”

“I’m not calling you hyung!  Who are you calling a bastard, you jerk?”  Jungkook snarled.  “And how the hell are you seventeen?  You have to be like ten!”

The guy that was presently right up in his face might have been seventeen, but Jungkook was just about the same height as him.  “I am two years older than you, whatever your name is!” the teen snapped.

“It’s Jeon Jungkook,” Jungkook sneered back.

“Well, Jeon Jungkook, I’ve lived two more years than you!  I’ve eaten 2130 more bowls of rice than you!”

“It doesn’t show, you...you shorty!”

“You’re the same height as me, you little brat!”

“Right now I am, but in two years I’ll be way taller than you!”

“And I’ll still be older, so I’m still your hyung!”

Jungkook seethed.  “Why am I still talking to you?”

“I don’t know,” the Unregistered spat back.  “Because you have no life, maybe?”

Jungkook sneered.  The Unregistered glowered.  Both of them were soaked to the bone, their clothes offering little protection against the pelting rain, which was doing a pretty good job of cooling down their tempers.

“What’s your name, anyways?” asked Jungkook, letting himself lean against the brick wall of the alleyway.

The Unregistered copied him, shaking water droplets out of his hair. “Park Jimin.”

Jungkook nodded.  “Park Jimin.  Nice to meet you, I guess.”

“Park Jimin-hyung,” Jimin corrected, and Jungkook rolled his eyes.  “And if you’re not going to arrest me…” he shot a wary glance at Jungkook, who didn’t move.  “…I’m going to take off.  Didn’t get the food, so gotta make up for that somehow.”  He pushed off the wall, and with a last baleful glare at Jungkook, stalked past with all the dignity of a ruffled cat.

Bemused, Jungkook watched him go, and after a long moment, made his way back to the place he presently called home.

 

What was definitely fun was explaining to Yoongi exactly how the contents of their refrigerator and cabinets managed to become scattered in front of the doorstep.  Jungkook opened and closed his mouth several times before mumbling something about taking the food to eat outside and tripping, and Yoongi graced him with a deeply suspicious glare.  The grumpy Watcher gave him a dark glower, muttering, “It’s great that you’re functioning again but throwing food around isn’t something I want to encourage.  Bad, brat.”  Yoongi slapped him sharply on the back of the head and left him to clean the remains of the food off the asphalt.

Jungkook couldn’t get the strange encounter with the Unregistered boy out of his head.

“You’re still distracted,” Yoongi remarked sharply, flicking him on the forehead during patrol at the factory.

Jungkook reeled back, hand to his forehead, and nearly tripped backwards into a box of scaled salmon.  “Ouch!  Hyung, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scowled, but Yoongi was already striding from the room.

“I don’t know what Seokjin-hyung said to you the other day,” the older Watcher continued through the comm unit, “and I’m glad it snapped you out of that funk, but –”

“Nobody says ‘funk’ anymore, hyung,” Jungkook muttered under his breath.

“Shut it, you little punk,” Yoongi snapped, “and I was saying, you’ve been distracted by something else lately.” He glared over his shoulder at Jungkook.  “You’ve got your head back, but it’s not in your job, and most of the time, you’re a million miles away.”

“Isn’t being a million miles away good?” Jungkook grumbled rebelliously.  “Because at least then I wouldn’t have to smell the rotting fish.”

Jungkook could practically hear Yoongi rolling his eyes.  “Don’t get smart with me, brat.”

It wasn’t as if Jungkook was trying to be deliberately difficult.  His emotions were turbulent, and he’d never had this much trouble controlling them since he’d first begun suppression lessons in the Academy.   To Yoongi’s dismay, this apparently manifested in Jungkook’s increasingly sarcastic backtalk and uncontrollable snippy remarks.  Only, of course, when Yoongi was present.  With everyone else, Jungkook was as reclusive and tightlipped as he had ever been.

He started sleeping less.  Sometimes he sat awake in an armchair, sometimes he wandered outside and leaned against the door and let the cool night breeze chill him until he couldn’t take the cold anymore and retreated back indoors.

One night, he shucked off his uniform jacket in favor of a plain grey t-shirt and emptied his equipment bag to fill it with the meat-filled steamed buns he liked.

Yoongi watched him curiously with slitted eyes, lolled in an armchair where he was exchanging texts with someone Jungkook guessed was probably Seokjin.  “What’re you doing, brat?” he asked lazily, following the younger Watcher’s progress with his head.

“Just going out,” Jungkook said uncomfortably.  He wasn’t exactly sure either.

Yoongi gave him one last dismissive stare before turning his attention back to his phone.  “Well, off-duty hours are all yours, kid.  Don’t get jumped or anything.”

Having acquired his mentor’s blessing, somewhat, Jungkook hefted the bag onto his back and wandered out the door.  The air was brisk and cool, and with the diminishing of the ever-present decomposing fish stench, it was almost pleasant to be out.

Jungkook hadn’t ventured out into the rest of the sector purposefully since Junhong had dragged him, giggling like a fiend, to ‘explore’ and ‘adventure’ like a small child.  The streets weren’t lit, but Jungkook was comfortable in the darkness with only the dim moonlight filtering through the ruins of buildings.  Hands in pockets, he wandered through the streets, stepping over broken glass and splintered plywood.  He turned away when he saw the dim lights of a Workers’ housing complex, heading back into the night and the abandoned alleyways.

The faintest rustle.  Jungkook stopped and turned slowly, eyes straining to see shadows in the dark.  His eyes sought out the rooftop.

“Look at you, wandering so far away like a stray cat.”

Jungkook squinted.  “Jimin?”

A silhouette detached itself from the rooftop and landed on the ground softly.  “That’s Jimin-hyung to you,” he scowled, sauntering up to Jungkook.

“I should shoot you,” Jungkook muttered, but it was without heat.  “Whatever.”  He unslung his backpack, ignoring Jimin’s incensed sputtering, and pulled out the bag of steamed bread and tossed it to Jimin.  “Here’s…here’s…something.  For messing up your food run the other night, I guess.”

The Unregistered teen caught the bag deftly and opened it.  “Ah, fancy Overwatch food, I see.”  He pulled one out and stuffed it in his mouth before offering the bag to Jungkook, who took one as well but bit with a little more restraint.   “You still owe me, you know,” Jimin said around a mouthful of bread, which he’d shoved into his cheeks like a chipmunk. “A little bit of bread isn’t gonna make up for losing that kind of food ‘n resources.”

Jungkook shrugged.  “It’s not my problem.  I’m a Watcher, I should take you down just for existing.”

“Ooh, you are not getting out of this so easily,” Jimin scowled, jabbing a finger into his chest.  Jungkook stared down at the offending appendage.  “Don’t you have any concept of honor?”

“I have my duty as a Watcher,” Jungkook retorted.  “And honor comes through doing my duty.”

Jimin shot Jungkook a dubious stare. “Uh, are you blind?  Stupid?  Soft in the head?”  Jungkook bristled, but Jimin wasn’t done. “Your duty consists of bullying a bunch of Workers who can’t even fight back!”

“It’s called policing, you idiot, and only when they do something wrong!” Jungkook snapped, stung.

“Well, what do you call ‘something wrong’, you misguided ape?  Accidentally leaving a scale on a fish?” Jimin sneered.  “Oh, boo hoo, chopping off some poor, starving Worker’s hand because the spoiled, delicate Overwatchers can’t handle one little scale on their perfect fillets!”

“Well, you aren’t exactly an angel yourself, you Unregistered terrorist!” he snarled, fury bubbling to the surface and mixing with grief and warring with his control.   It clicked.  This was an Unregistered.  An anarchist.  A killer.

He reached instinctively for his handgun, but he’d left his holsters behind along with the rest of his equipment.  “Do you know what your people did?  They killed my best friend!  You – as far as I know, you’re the one who killed him!” Jungkook lunged, springing at the other boy, who ducked, eyes wide.

“Whoa, whoa, hey!” Jimin dodged nimbly to the side as Jungkook sprang again, eyes full of intent.  “What the hell are you going on about?  We’ve haven’t killed anyone!  And I know I definitely haven’t!”

Jungkook wasn’t listening anymore, but his temper made him careless, and Jimin evidently had enough combat training to evade his blows.  Jungkook spun, shadowing Jimin as the Unregistered jumped sideways out of the range of his punch, and followed it up with a spinning kick.  It caught Jimin in the stomach, and he stumbled backwards as Jungkook pounced.  Both hands came up for Jimin’s throat, but the older teen rolled and grabbed one wrist with one hand, and the back of Jungkook’s neck with the other, and suddenly Jungkook found himself face down in an armlock.

Like a wounded animal, Jungkook snarled and fought, but even his attempt to counter the armlock was foiled.

“Look, Jungkook,” Jimin panted, leaning heavily on Jungkook’s upper back as he jerked.  “I don’t have anything against you--well, nothing personal--and I sure as hell am sorry about your friend’s death.  But look, man, I’m not a murderer.  I steal, yeah, but it’s for survival.”

Jungkook went limp, losing his will to fight.  Slowly, Jimin loosened his grip, and hopped back quickly when Jungkook didn’t lash out.  Jungkook lay still for a few moments, then rolled over and sat up, leaning against the wall.  Having reined in his temper and regained enough sense to make him unwilling to pick a fight he wasn’t sure he’d win, Jungkook glared at Jimin from the corner of his eye.

“The Unregistered bombing on Moving Day,” Jungkook said at last, voice rough.  “He…he died in the blast.”

Jimin eyed him sympathetically.  “I’m sorry.  But it we weren’t responsible for that.”

“Then who?” Jungkook exploded. “And why?”  He gritted his teeth briefly before exhaling slowly, closing his eyes closed, and relaxing fists he hadn’t known he’d clenched.

“I don’t know,” said Jimin.  “I’m sorry.”

 

Tap.  Tap tap.  There was something at the window.  Jungkook blinked awake groggily, staring at the dark ceiling.  The tapping started again.  Jungkook rolled out of bed, landing in a crouch between his and Yoongi’s beds.  His mentor’s bunk was empty again this night, so Jungkook gently lifted his gun from the dresser and picked his way out through the living room.

The only one who used to tap on his window at night wasn’t around to do it anymore.

Cautiously, he edged to the windows and peered out.  Nothing.  He stalked to the door and with a gun in one hand, cracked it open.

He was met by a cheerfully crinkled pair of eyes, which blinked down bemusedly at the gun before meeting Jungkook’s eyes again, undaunted.  Jungkook sighed, lowering the firearm, and opening the door wider.  “What are you doing here?” he demanded lowly.  “You’re an Unregistered.  This is a Watcher compound!  Our Division’s Keeper lives here, for heaven’s sake!”

“Jungkookie!” Jimin crooned.  “You care!” He pushed past Jungkook further into the room, beelining for the kitchen.  

“I should shoot you,” he muttered in response.  Exasperated, Jungkook closed the door after a furtive glance outside to make sure nobody had seen the Unregistered come in.  “You must have a bloody death wish,” he muttered, turning to lean against the door with his arms crossed across his chest.

Jimin hadn’t turned on the lights, opting to root through the refrigerator by the light of its glow.  “Are you worried for me?” he asked, amused, a carrot in one hand.

“No,” Jungkook snapped.  “If someone caught you knocking on my door, let alone me letting you in, I’d be arrested for treason.  You do realize that I am a Watcher and you are an Unregistered, and just by that definition, we’re mortal enemies?”

Jimin flapped a hand carelessly, adding the carrot to the stack of produce he was building on Jungkook’s counter.  “Schematics,” he called over his shoulder.

“You are stealing my food,” Jungkook said blankly, wandering over to lean against the counter.  He didn’t feel compelled to stop the other teen.

“Uh, you owe me this food?” Jimin paused just long enough to raise an eyebrow at him before closing the now-empty refrigerator with finality and moving on to the cabinets above him.

“You stole that food too,” Jungkook pointed out.

“And you made me drop it, you bastard,” Jimin snipped, adding half a loaf of bread to his cache.

Jungkook snorted.  “You didn’t drop it, you threw it at me, you moron.”

Jimin pointed a package of dry bread sticks at Jungkook.  “And that is why it’s still your fault.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and flicked on the overhead lights in the kitchenette.  Jimin flinched reflexively, ducking behind the nearest armchair with wide eyes.  Jungkook raised both eyebrows, amused.  “Overreact, much?”

Jimin scowled, glaring up at the Watcher.  “It’s called survival instincts, you heretic, and it does something called keeping me alive.  Weren’t you just talking about why I can’t be caught here?”  With another furtive glance over his shoulder, he began shoveling the food into a cloth knapsack.  “And what about your partner?  Won’t you wake him up or something?”

Jungkook shrugged, hopping up to perch on the countertop.  “Hyung tends to stay out a lot at night.  He stays at the Keeper’s room overnight sometimes.”

Jimin flashed a suggestive grin and waggled his eyebrows at the younger teen.  “Mmm…”

Jungkook flushed to the ears and snatched up the nearest object – a damp sponge, fortunately for Jimin – and hurled it at the Unregistered, who batted it away with ease.  “That’s – that’s –” he sputtered, avoiding eye contact and doing his best to scrub the offending images from his mind.  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

Jimin cackled, slinging the stuffed backpack onto his back.  “So innocent, Jungkookie.  Big, bad Watcher like you…or,” he smirked, giving Jungkook a once-over, “not so big.  Kinda shrimpy, actually.”

Jungkook huffed, offended.  “At least I don’t look like a stunted dwarf.”

Jimin stuck out his tongue and reached over Jungkook to turn the light off and plunge the room back into darkness.  “See ya around, Jungkookie.”  And he opened the door.

Jungkook half-laughed bitterly in disbelief.  “Is that it?  Just came to rob me clean of my food?”

Jimin turned, silhouetted in the doorway with a put-out pout on his face. “Oh, please, Jungkookie, do you really think that little of me?”  He waggled his eyes suggestively, but Jungkook didn’t say anything.  “I’m a bit busy tonight, but I’ll be back.  ‘Kay?”  And with an eye-crinkling smile, he vanished out into the night.  Jungkook stared as the door clicked closed behind him.

 

“That’s a strange place to sleep, brat.”

Jungkook startled awake and abruptly hit his head on the underside of the overhead cabinets.  Cringing from the pain, he nearly slipped off the countertop he had apparently fallen asleep on when Jimin left.

Yoongi stared at him placidly, a half-eaten banana in one hand.

“I just…fell asleep…” Jungkook muttered lamely, half-hopping, half-falling off the counter.  His back was stiff and his entire right arm numb from sleeping on the hard surface the whole night.

Yoongi looked decidedly unimpressed.  “On the kitchen counter.”  Jungkook nodded uncomfortably.  The older Watcher stared, skeptical, then shrugged.  “It’s a bit early, but I thought you’d appreciate being woken up.  Didn’t think you enjoyed sleeping there, but I guess whatever floats your boat, kid.”

 

“We should stop meeting like this,” Jungkook muttered.  “I’m not getting enough sleep at night.  I’m practically nodding off while patrolling like hyung does.”

Jimin lolled his head over to blink at Jungkook.  “But, Jungkookie!  When else would we be able to see the stars like this?” He motioned lazily with one hand at the sky, the other arm tucked behind his head as a cushion.  The pair lay flat on their backs on the concrete roof of an abandoned housing complex.

The roof was cold beneath his back, seeping easily through the thin fabric of his shirt, since Jungkook sacrificed his jacket as a pillow.  The night breeze sent chills and goosebumps up his bare arms.  “I should shoot you,” he grumbled, but like always, without any real intent.

Jungkook knew he hated the Unregistered, but Jimin was…different.  He wasn’t the formless entity that had killed his best friend, the indeterminate threat the Academy had taught them to beware of.  He was just Jimin.  A person.  A friend, almost.

“This is as good as sleeping, anyways.  Maybe better,” Jimin added, pulling Jungkook from his thoughts.  “We can see things in the sky at night we can’t see at any other time.”

“Like darkness?” Jungkook needled, only half joking.

“Stars, you heretic.  The moon.  Comets.  Constellations.”  He shot a sideways glance at Jungkook skeptically.  “…you do know what constellations are, right?”

Jungkook had never heard that word in his life.  “Constellations?”

Jimin groaned, running a hand over his face.  “Jungkookie, you’re hopeless.  Constellations are shapes formed by the stars.  Stories in the stars themselves.”

Blankly, Jungkook stared dubiously at Jimin before transferring his gaze back up to the sky.

“Look there,” Jimin breathed, pointing at a dusting of stars in the sky.  “That one’s my favorite.  It’s the White Tiger of the West.  Baekho.”  He smiled.  When Jungkook looked over, he could see the reflection of the stars in his eyes.  “Guardian of the autumn, the protector and defender; punisher of the evil.  Legends say,” he continued, toying absently with the zipper on his sleeve, “that a white tiger will only appear when there is peace in the land, or a ruler with absolute virtue.”  His faint smile fell off a little.  “The stars in that constellation have been really dim recently,” Jimin lamented.  “For a while, I was afraid it would just disappear forever.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jungkook muttered gruffly.  “Stars can’t just vanish.”

Jimin grinned, bright smile back once again.  “Yeah, right?  There’s no way.”  He hopped to his feet and offered Jungkook a hand up, who took it, confused.

“Are we going somewhere?” he asked cautiously.

Jimin winked.  “You have work. I have work too.  Only, I work the night shift, so to speak, and tonight’s one of my working days.  Nights.”  He picked up his knapsack – the contents of which he had acquired from Jungkook’s room once again, to his chagrin – and slung it over one shoulder.  Jungkook didn’t know what Yoongi thought he was doing with all that food since the older Watcher had only just replenished the food Jimin had made a habit of swiping every few days or so.  “And you can come with me!” Jimin beamed.  “Like bring your kid to work day!”

“I’m…not your kid,” Jungkook responded blankly, not quite capable of comprehending whatever had just come out of the Unregistered teen’s mouth.

Jimin shook his head pityingly at Jungkook. “Let’s just go, Jungkookie, before your lack of culture makes me jump off the roof.”

Jungkook wasn’t very sure what that meant, but he assumed he had just been gravely insulted. Nevertheless, he watched as Jimin trotted, then sprinted to the edge of the roof before launching himself off fearlessly.  The Unregistered landed running on the adjacent roof, maybe five meters away, and circled back to the edge to wave at Jungkook gleefully.

Jungkook eyed the gap.  The ground was a very far fifteen-twenty meter drop away, and jumping off roofs hadn’t exactly been taught at the Overwatch Academy the way it apparently had at whatever education program the Unregistered attended.  But Jungkook hadn’t graduated as the number one student at the top Academy for nothing, so he threw caution to the wind and hurtled towards the edge of the building and jumped.

For a few brief seconds, Jungkook was flying, cold air stinging his eyes and whipping his too-long bangs back into his face as he hung suspended between the two roofs.  Then his feet made contact with the concrete roof, hard, and he stumbled, but managed to turn his fall into a shoulder roll before he face planted at Jimin’s feet.

Above him, he heard Jimin’s throaty laugh, and the older teen clapped him on the shoulder as he rose from his crouch.  Jungkook felt an uncharacteristic grin tugging on his face, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

“Not bad for a rookie,” Jimin teased, and his eyes gleamed with a challenge.  “But you know, we still have a ways to go.  Try and keep up, will you?”  And then he was off, darting to the opposite side of the building and leaping off neatly to the next roof.

His blood buzzing and an uncontrollably broad smile on his face, Jungkook followed the Unregistered before he could disappear into the darkness.  The next few jumps, he stumbled in his landing, and once, he landed on his knees against a slanted roof.

But Jimin always waited one or two buildings over so Jungkook didn’t get lost in the endless maze of darkened rooftops.  Jungkook got the hang of jumping.  With adrenaline as his faithful companion and the rhythm of his footsteps on the tiles and concrete constant beneath his feet, Jungkook felt truly happy for the first time since Junhong’s death.

He was so caught up in the running and the jumping that he didn’t notice that this time, they had run toward the lights instead of away.  “Where are we?” Jungkook asked breathlessly, when Jimin stopped on a rooftop just beyond a dimly lit compound.

“Worker housing compound West-2-5,” Jimin answered, inching up to the edge of the roof on his stomach.  Jungkook copied him, gingerly creeping up to survey the compound.  “Guarded, of course.  There’s a guardhouse and a patrol every ten minutes or so to enforce the Worker curfew.”

Jungkook stiffened, and Jimin noticed, rolling his eyes.  “Common knowledge, Jungkookie, calm down.  I’m not gonna go assassinate them or anything.” He shot Jungkook a last, rather wary look.  “Stay here.  Don’t move.  I’ll be right back.”  With one last wink, Jimin hopped over the edge of the roof.

Jungkook peered over.  Jimin had dropped from the roof to a stone windowsill, then to the next, and then the one after, until he landed lightly on the ground, catlike.

Jungkook stiffened as a pair of Watchers, armed with flashlights, marched just meters past where Jimin had been hiding.  Seconds after the Watchers moved past, a small figure darted out of the shadows and straight across the open space to the closest door.  Jungkook held his breath, but there were no shouts or sudden thundering footsteps.  Jimin had pressed himself flat against the door, his fingers tapping against the window arrhythmically.  Fast enough that if he blinked he would have missed it, the door cracked open, and Jimin dashed inside before it closed soundlessly behind him.

Jungkook watched nervously as the next round of guards passed around the perimeter.  Just as the Watchers disappeared from view, the first door opened again, and Jimin darted out.  Instead of making his way back to where Jungkook perched on the rooftop, however, Jimin tapped on the second door, which opened for him as quickly as the first.

Incredulously, Jungkook watched as Jimin visited each of the rooms one by one, before finally slinking through the darkness back to the base of Jungkook’s building.  Seconds later, Jungkook grabbed the back of Jimin’s leather jacket and helped heave him over the edge.  Jimin rolled over with a smirk.

“What were you doing?” Jungkook hissed.  “Breaking curfew to visit the Workers?”

Jimin raised an eyebrow.  “This ‘curfew’ you speak of really only applies to Workers.  I’m an Unregistered; my existence is already breaking a thousand rules, probably.  And anyways,” he waved his now-empty backpack at Jungkook.  “My job today was distributing a little something extra to the Workers in that housing block.”

Jungkook cocked his head.  “Why?  Those Workers all get rations.  Every day.  From wherever they’re assigned to work.”

Jimin sighed, exasperated, and rolled his eyes.  “Well, maybe the Workers in Central City and the North-7, East-7, South-7, and West-7 Sectors have a properly luxurious diet, and maybe a couple of the closer Sectors get a little something extra, but all the way out here? Not enough.  Enough to survive, but not a properly balanced diet.”  He folded up the cloth knapsack and tucked it into an inside jacket pocket.  “That’s why they’re always so thin and get sick so much.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything more, but instead followed Jimin in a pensive silence as the Unregistered took off over the roofs once more and away from the lights.  

 

It became a regular thing.  Every few nights or so, when his shift was over and the housing compound grew quiet with the rise of the moon, Jungkook would open the door just enough to let Jimin in and the pair would make their way out into the Sector.  Sometimes, Jimin emptied out Jungkook’s cache of food to deliver, and sometimes they just spent the moonlit hours playing chase through the dark, abandoned buildings or stargazing on concrete roofs.

“Let me try it,” Jungkook whispered suddenly, perched on the counter of his kitchenette.

Jimin paused in the middle of putting kimchi wrapped in plastic into his backpack and shot him a weird stare.  “What, the kimchi?”

“No, the—“ Jungkook gestured vaguely at both Jimin and the backpack.  “Delivering the food to the Workers.  I want to try it.”

Jimin frowned.  “It’s not very safe, Jungkookie.  Especially with more than one person sneaking in and out, and you being a Watcher and all…the irregularity of it could startle them.”  He pulled the backpack closed and slung it onto his back.

Jungkook slid off the counter and followed him to the door.  “I’m trained to handle dangerous situations,” he pointed out.  “Even if the Academy didn’t actually teach sneaking into a Worker compound, I’m sure I could do it.”

Jimin chewed on his lip, sending him an uncertain glance as the pair slipped out into the Sector.  “Jungkook, if you’re caught…you could be killed for treason.”

“So could you,” Jungkook countered.  “Watchers have a standing order to bring in any and all Unregistered for interrogation and eventually execution.”

Jimin smirked.  “I guess I’m lucky you’re not a stellar example of a Watcher after all.”

Jungkook’s stride faltered just a little.  “Yeah.”

Pausing at the edge of the shadows in an alleyway near the Worker compound, Jimin turned and crossed his arms, scrutinizing Jungkook with a critical eye.  “Fine,” he sighed.  “I’ll take you in with me this time.  Are you sure you want to do this?”

Jungkook nodded, a thrill of anticipation shooting up his spine.

Jimin rolled his eyes, mutterering, “I’m going to regret this,” under his breath, and set his backpack down to peel his leather jacket off.  “Put this on,” he ordered.  “The Workers know grey is associated with Watchers, so you need to cover that shirt up.”

Jungkook took the proffered jacket and shrugged it on.  Jimin now was wearing just a sleeveless white shirt with some kind of writing on the front in black.  But Jungkook’s glance was caught by a long, jagged scar running up his left forearm, exactly where Jungkook’s tracking chip currently was.  Jimin turned slightly, shifting so his arm was out of view, and Jungkook’s eyes jumped guiltily up to his face.

Jimin glanced briefly back but turned away without explanation with his backpack once again slung over a shoulder.  “When I run, follow me, and for heaven’s sake – and both our necks – try not to make a lot of noise.  If we’re caught, we’re both dead.”

Jungkook nodded, muscles tensed.  Jimin’s eyes were tracking the path of the guards, and when he suddenly sprinted out of the cover of the alley, Jungkook darted after him.  They were out in the open, then dashing across the open concrete, but Jungkook heard no shouts of alarm over the rushing of wind in his ears.  He ducked under the window with Jimin, flat against the side of the building as the Unregistered tapped out a code on the window.  The door opened, and Jimin and Jungkook slipped inside.

“Jimin, who’s this?”

Jungkook turned at the harsh whisper.  A man in Worker’s orange and a hard, lined face stared distrustfully at him.

“Ah, don’t worry, he’s a friend,” Jimin reassured with a smile, pulling Jungkook down to sit on the floor with him.  “But I’d rather not give out names, yours or his, for both your protection.”

The Worker frowned but didn’t say anything.  Jungkook’s eyes slid from the man to the rest of the room.  There was nothing personalized; everything was simply the same regulation equipment and furniture distributed to the Workers, from the battered portable gas stove to the stained, off-white blanket on a regulation bedroll.  On the glass ranking screen, “64” glowed in red digital digits.

Jimin had pulled out a chunk of bread, which he laid on plastic on the table along with a few leaves of the kimchi and half the contents of a small can of meat.  “It’s not much, today,” he apologized, wrapping the rest of the food back up, “but just remember that soon we’ll make it so everybody gets enough food.”

The man smiled, taking years off his face.  “Thank you,” he said.  “Both of you.  Even this will be a great help.”

Jimin’s eyes crinkled into a smile, and Jungkook offered an awkward half-smile too as he followed Jimin back towards the door.  “We’ll be back.” Jimin winked, and then darted back out.

Jungkook lost count of how many rooms they visited.  At the end, when they were watching the compound from back in the alleyway again, he felt just as fatigued as he had after Academy testing.

“Well?” Jimin asked expectantly, holding a hand out for his jacket.  “How was it?”

Jungkook slipped it off and handed it back to him.  “That was…new,” he said at last.  Jimin shot him a knowing glance.

“And now you’re in just as deep as I am,” Jimin said smugly.  “You can’t report me if you’re doing the exact same thing.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but a grin tugged at his lips when he followed Jimin back through the darkened streets.

Helping Jimin hand out food to the Workers felt very different from policing them at the factory.  And seeing them in their homes made them seem less like Workers, and more like…people.

 

“How do you feel about being a Watcher, Jungkookie?” Jimin asked one night out of the blue.  The pair were once again on an abandoned roof, staring up at the night sky.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook said after a pause.  “It’s a job.  It’s my job.”

“The best job they have, aside from Keeper, huh?” Jimin said dubiously, quoting Jungkook himself.

Jungkook shrugged.

“Do you enjoy it?” Jimin asked quietly after a long pause.

Jungkook considered it.  He didn’t enjoy enforcing the Overwatch’s view on the Workers in the factory.  He didn’t enjoy the daily tedium of work in the cesspool of the fish production plant.  There were his friends – more like Junhong’s friends – Hongbin and Hyuk.  Yoongi-hyung.  Kim Seokjin, the kindly Keeper.  But what else was there?  The goal that had been impressed on him since he was a trainee, a student at the Overwatch Academy?  It seemed so empty now, with Junhong gone and Jungkook himself actually spending time with an Unregistered rebel. “I don’t know,” he responded at last.

Fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour passed in a companionable silence.

“I want you to meet my family,” Jimin said.

Jungkook sat up, eyes wide, and stared at Jimin.  “Your…your family?” he asked.

Jimin’s eyes flicked to the side uncertainly.  “Uhh…yeah.  Except they’re not really my family, you know?  My parents…my blood brother…I haven’t seen them in ten years.  But I have a new family now.  I mean, another one.  I’m not trying to replace my first one.”  Jimin was talking faster now, chattering nervously, and avoiding eye contact with Jungkook.  “They’re like my brothers and sisters now, you know, and I want you to meet them.  Not in, like, a weird way or anything, like a bring-your-significant-other-to-meet-the-family way, because you are definitely not my boyfriend but just like a friendly everybody-should-get-along kind of way, yeah?” He trailed off, twisting his hands in his shirt nervously.

Jungkook lay back down uncomfortably.  “Won’t they try to kill me?” he wondered aloud.  “I’m a Watcher.”

Jimin chewed on his lower lip nervously; he still wouldn’t look at Jungkook.  “We have secrets, secrets that keep us alive.  I can’t actually tell you anything important.  It’s not that I don’t trust you, Jungkookie, because I do.  But it’s against the rules, and for good reason, just in case, you know.”

Jungkook opened his mouth to respond, but Jimin cut him off.  “I know you have secrets too, since you’re Overwatch and all, so I think we can both agree that there are things we can’t tell each other.”  Mutely, Jungkook nodded.  “And I think because we both accept that we can still be friends, even if we are who we are.”

“Aren’t you taking a big risk then, if you want me to meet…more of you?” Jungkook suggested hesitantly.  “Won’t you get in a lot of trouble for it?”

Jimin smiled tremulously.  “It’s not the first time the Unregistered have made contact with the Overwatch, and you know we have contact with Workers too.  The hyungs said it would be okay to bring you by, especially since I already took you to meet some of the Workers we help out.”  His eyes slid sideways to meet Jungkook’s wide eyes at last.  “That’s already a big risk I took right there, telling you about us and the Overwatch.”

Jungkook exhaled a short huff.  “Yeah.”

A wind picked up, sending chills up Jungkook’s bare arms.  He scrutinized the sky blankly, mind racing.  Jimin was different, but to meet more Unregistered?

“So?” Jimin prompted.

Jungkook hesitated just briefly.  “Okay,” he said at last.  “I’ll meet them.”

Jimin grinned, reaching over to slap Jungkook’s shoulder.  “You’ll love them,” he promised.  “They’re all really nice and cool and everything.”

Jungkook smiled too, albeit a bit reluctantly, but Jimin’s excitement was catching.  He lolled his head to the side to look at Jimin again, but the older boy’s happiness had suddenly evaporated once more into apprehension.  “What is it?” he asked cautiously.

Jimin chewed on his lip nervously.  “There’s one more thing, Jungkook.  One more secret I think I need to tell you.”

Jungkook sat up languidly, arms resting on his knees.  Jimin’s eyes had returned to the night sky, but Jungkook could see the tension in the set of his jaw.    

“It’s about the bombing during the last Moving Day,” Jimin hedged.  “I told you I didn’t know anything about it.”

Jungkook went still, eyes fixed on Jimin’s face.  “What?” he wheezed, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.  “Do…do you know who did it?”

Jimin nodded, eyes sliding away from Jungkook’s.  “We found out.  This might be a bit…shocking for you.  You might not believe me.”

“Tell me who killed them,” Jungkook said, in a voice just above a whisper. “I need to know.”

“The bombing wasn’t done by the Unregistered, the way the Council told you.” Jimin worried at his lip, fingers tangling in his shirt hem.  “It was them who did it.”

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows uncomprehendingly.  “What?  Who?”

Jimin met his eyes gravely.  “The Overwatch Council.”


	4. Chapter 4

_It’s coming apart, much too fast.  Sunggyu can’t keep up with the reports that flood in without respite._

_“It’s mostly the outer Sectors,” Dongwoo purses his lips, uncharacteristically serious as he slides the screen down.  “Especially West-1.  There are more and more Workers going missing.  They’ve found a way to bypass the self-destruct mechanism and cut out the monitoring chips entirely.  Sungjong’s research teams believe this is the work of the Unregistered.”_

_Sunggyu is leaning forward, eyes closed.  His forehead is leaning on clasped hands as he exhales slowly.  “And what about the Overwatch divisions in the area?  Have they been unforthcoming?”_

_Silence.  Sunggyu feels dread rising in his chest as he opens his eyes and stares at Dongwoo beneath his hands.  Dongwoo is visibly nervous, foot tapping rapidly and finger twitching against his lip.  He won’t meet Sunggyu’s eyes, instead staring down at the tablet in his other hand._

_“Some entire teams have gone dark,” Dongwoo admitted.  “We’ve been pulling teams from their rest rotations as backup, but it’s not enough.  They can tell there’s something wrong.  It’ll be difficult to cover this up and brush it off.”_

_Sunggyu groans, letting his head thump down on the tabletop.  “Any good news?”_

_“There seems to be less and less Unregistered activity, and teams aren’t reporting as many disturbances or raids.  But actually…” Dongwoo continues hesitantly.  “There’s worse news.  In the past day, West-1 and South-1 have gone dark entirely.  We’ve heard no reports from the Divisions stationed there, and the teams Hoya sent to investigate went silent midway.  He sent another full division, but—“_

_“Call them back,” mutters Sunggyu tiredly._

_Dongwoo hesitates, uncertain.  “What did you say, hyung?”_

_“Call them back,” Sunggyu snapped abruptly.  “Those Divisions are lost.  Those Sectors are gone.  Reroute any remaining reinforcements to East-1 and North-1; if the patterns follow, those Sectors will be next.”_

_Sunggyu looks back over to Dongwoo, whose face is set in a mask of horrified dread.  “Hyung, we can’t—we can’t just give up on those sectors!  That would be…the nation would…you would just let it come apart like that?”_

_“Dongwoo, I heard you were the one that didn’t like the aggressive approach we took earlier,” Sunggyu cut in harshly.  “Are you suddenly suggesting we just throw all the troops we have at this all at once?  I might remind you that it means heavy casualties for Workers and Watchers, not just Unregistered.”_

_The younger man looks away with a troubled expression and lets out a long sigh.  “There has to be another way, hyung.”_

_Sunggyu leans back in his chair.  This is the innocence Dongwoo of all his adoptive brothers has somehow managed to maintain over the years against all odds.  It’s an innocence even his dongsaengs have tried to protect.  “There isn’t,” he says with finality.  “I’m sorry, Dongwoo, but there just isn’t any way to save those Sectors.”_

_The dismay on Dongwoo’s face is so raw and strong that Sunggyu can’t help but turn away.  It’s no secret that Dongwoo is the strongest advocate of the Workers on the Council, that he’s the one pushing for increases in rations, who advocates for the percentage of Workers transferred during Moving Day to the top and bottom be a lesser percentage rather than the high percentage Myungsoo wants to maintain, to improve living stability for the Workers.  He’s the one that takes the loss of the Sectors the hardest, because he knows it’ll be the Workers caught in the crossfire between the Watchers and Keepers and the Unregistered._

_And seeing the emotions play across Dongwoo’s face is the reason Sunggyu suddenly feels a jolt of foreboding, as if feeling the weight of the loss of those Sectors and the lives in them for the first time._

_It’s rare that Sunggyu comes back to this quiet mansion with its extravagance unlike anywhere else in the nation in the morning, when he’s supposed to be busy overseeing the country.  Yet here he is, climbing the carpeted stairs after opening a door that should have been locked but had been left open.  For Sunggyu.  Carved and painted porcelain vases sit in lit alcoves along the curved wall, a luxury unlike anywhere else but in the Inner Central City._

_The study is lit, not from a lamp, but from the morning rays filtering through the curtains.  Sunggyu steps inside, making his way over to the two armchairs waiting at the center of the room.  The first is already occupied, as he knew it would be, by the familiar silhouette lounging with a glass in one hand._

_Sunggyu sinks down without invitation, as Jaejoong seems uninclined to move.  The older man doesn’t move, even when Sunggyu picks up a freshly poured glass, from the side table.  It’s Sunggyu who breaks the silence.  “It’s getting worse,” he said into the quiet room.  The words sound muffled, or perhaps it’s because Sunggyu is far too reluctant to admit his problems to anyone, much less Jaejoong._

_“I know,” Jaejoong responds absently, twirling the glass in his hand, before even that movement slows and stops.  “I’ve seen your Watchers moving abnormally even from here.”_

_“How do I stop it?” Sunggyu asks aloud, half to himself, quiet enough that he isn’t sure if Jaejoong even heard him._

_The older man tilts his head, tawny eyes sliding languidly to fix gravely on Sunggyu’s.  “You can’t,” he answers simply._

_Sunggyu’s infamous temper flares, and he slams his glass down on the side table.  Some of the pale liquid sloshes out the side, spilling onto his hand, but he ignores it.  “Don’t say that,” he snarls.  “Just because I’ve lost a couple of Sectors doesn’t mean—“_

_“So you lost Sectors,” Jaejoong muses, interrupting Sunggyu’s rant.  The older man turns his head back to scrutinize a painting on the wall.  “Probably the outermost ones, the ones it takes you the most time to respond to.”  Sunggyu fumes silently at himself for letting the information slip. “Unregistered sightings are decreasing, not because they, the Unregistered, are becoming less active, but because your Watchers are not reporting them.”  He slides his eyes sideways to scrutinize Sunggyu from beneath his hair.  “Am I wrong?”_

_Sunggyu grits his teeth.  “It’s possible,” he admits, reining in his anger._

_“Then it’s too late,” Jaejoong says simply.  “You can claw for the survival of your nation, but it’s too late.  You’ve dreamed your dream and it’s gone now.  Your nation is doused in kerosene and the spark was lit far too long ago to be stopped.”_

_“Isn’t that a bit dramatic?” Sunggyu snips, glaring._

_A ghost of a smile drifts onto Jaejoong’s face.  “Perhaps,” he allows.  “But now, if you want the best for your people, there’s only one thing you can do.  Fan the flames.”_

_“Are you crazy?”  Sunggyu shrieks, slamming a hand onto the armrest of his chair._

_“You have to accept that your leadership will not improve the lives of the people,” Jaejoong continues serenely, as though Sunggyu’s outburst had never happened.  “So expedite the process.  Give up the nation.  For the people.”_

_“And have it descend into anarchy?” Sunggyu spits, hands clenched into fists and braced against his chair.  “If this nation loses its head, there’s nothing to keep it running.  People will die without order!”_

_“If the Unregistered are acting so organized, it’s likely there’s already new leadership waiting and ready to take over.  Perhaps they need just a push and a little help to finish the job.”_

_Sunggyu hates that Jaejoong and his honeyed voice could make anything sound so reasonable.  “What kind of ‘push’ are you talking about?” Sunggyu’s voice is heavily laced with skepticism, but the fact that he’s even asking feels like he’s losing control of the conversation._

_“Well,” Jaejoong swirls the liquid around in his glass and delicately takes a sip.  “For you and I, it was Woohyun.”_

_Sunggyu’s hard-pressed composure snaps, and he’s out of his chair, one hand bracing against the older man’s armrest and the other hand buried in Jaejoong’s perfectly pressed shirt collar.  “You don’t get to talk about Woohyun!” Sunggyu barks in the older man’s face, and although there’s no break in Jaejoong’s perfect mask, he has to feel at least a little unsettled at Sunggyu’s rage._

_But Jaejoong’s eyes are fearless even if a muscle in his jaw tenses, and his alabaster features are smooth and blank as he stares calmly at the man looming over him.  He’s utterly unapologetic, chin tilted upward to meet Sunggyu’s incensed glare, and the sight makes Sunggyu relinquish his grasp on him, shoving Jaejoong bodily back in his chair.  He’s much too angry to return to his own seat, so Sunggyu paces the room like a caged tiger as Jaejoong discreetly loosens his tie._

_“It’s an ugly truth, but one that needs to be said nonetheless,” Jaejoong continues, voice perfectly smooth as though he hadn’t just been assaulted.  Sunggyu spins with a wordless snarl on his face, but Jaejoong presses on ruthlessly.  “The nation was coming apart at the seams no matter what I tried to do to fix it, and you and your brothers were becoming a rising power.  My methods clearly weren’t working; it was time for a drastic change.  There wasn’t enough support and faith in my leadership, and if I simply rolled over and let you take the reins, the people would never accept you as a new leader with my blessing.  At the same time, you had not been tested.  Your drive to lead and create change wasn’t strong enough.  I did what I had to in order to forge you into a hardened leader.” Jaejoong leans back, calculating eyes waiting to catch Sunggyu’s response._

_Sunggyu has stopped frozen in the middle of the room.  “You…made me?”  It isn’t quite what he’d intended to say, but his mind is spinning and the words just won’t come out._

_“In part, you could say that, I suppose,” Jaejoong responds, cool as ever.  “More accurately, I manufactured the situation to nudge you in the right direction.  But I might add that I am not entirely responsible.”_

_“You killed Woohyun,” Sunggyu breathes, the fury building back up, “so I would be angry enough to want revenge?”_

_“It worked,” Jaejoong fires back, relentlessly, unremorsefully.  “You became strong.  You made the decisions that needed to be made.  You gained the drive you needed to rally the people behind you and take control of the nation, and you did.”_

_“What the fuck, you twisted psychopath!” Sunggyu hisses, incensed to the point where he can barely form words.  Angrily, he swipes out and sends a vase and a stack of books crashing to the ground from atop a bookcase.  The vase shatters, white porcelain shards strew starkly across the thick carpet. “He was my best friend!” He whirls, glaring daggers at the man reclined elegantly, unmoved, in his carmine plush armchair._

_“And it worked,” Jaejoong repeats dispassionately, coldly. “It was a selfless decision.  I was leader before you, and it was a comfortable position.  One I didn’t have to give up if I didn’t want to.  I gave up the nation to become a criminal, the most hated figure in recent history.  I made your friend a martyr and you a revolutionary.  For the people.”_

_“I can’t believe you,” Sunggyu fumes, powerlessly, like he’s raging at some kind of immobile statue that can’t feel whatever he throws at it.  “You just admitted to killing my friend on a whim, as some sort of twisted plot to make me into a puppet for you to jerk around?”_

_“I believe it must have been a little more than just friends,” Jaejoong murmured.  “And,” he continued, over whatever response Sunggyu’s mind may have been able to dredge up, “you can rest assured that you were never a puppet.  You were truly a leader in your own right.  When the time comes, I have the utmost confidence that you will do the right thing as well.”_

_“I should have had you executed,” Sunggyu snaps, but the other man shrugs elegantly._

_“I thought you might,” Jaejoong admits freely.  “It was a pleasant surprise when you decided to use my incarceration as an example to the people of your moral superiority.”_

_As Jaejoong meets his eyes fearlessly, steadily, Sunggyu can do nothing but stare at the sheer nerve of the man  There’s a commotion downstairs, and someone clatters up the stairs and bursts through the door._

_“Hyung,” gasps Sungjong, his normally impeccable suit jacket crooked and his tie loosened and askew.  He hops over the pile of debris Sunggyu has created in the doorway with barely a scandalized stare.  Sunggyu draws up sharply, stepping back into a professional stature.   The dismay written on Sungjong’s face is enough to pull him away, and he strides to the door as Sungjong clatters back down the stairs._

_At the doorframe, he hears Jaejoong say, “I know you’ll do the right thing when the time comes.  You’re not that different from me.”_

_“We’re nothing alike,” Sunggyu snaps over his shoulder, but as he steps out of the room, he catches one last glimpse of that familiar enigmatic smile on Jaejoong’s face._

Another quarter gone by, another Moving Day.  Jungkook began wearing his Level 3 pin when the two new Watchers joined – Song Minho and Kim Yuna, both from his graduating class and apparently personally drafted by Keeper Seokjin.  Yoongi had explained his new duties as “mentoring new Watchers, and if we’re attacked, organizing Level 2’s and getting them to a checkpoint.  Neither of which you have to worry about right now,” so nothing really changed when he was on duty.

Off-duty was a different matter entirely.  If the present-day, sixteen-year-old Jungkook had told his thirteen-year-old self he’d been talking to, let alone spending time with an Unregistered, his younger self would have laughed in his face and then undoubtedly reported him to the higher-ups.

“Where are we going?” Jungkook huffed, vaulting over a fallen fence after said Unregistered. “Jimin…?”

The Unregistered whirled, hand raised only half-jokingly in righteous fury, and Jungkook dodged out of the way, rolling his eyes.  “…ie-hyung.”

Jimin sniffed, ignoring the question, and continued forging a path through the cluttered alleyways.

“Hyu-u-ung,” Jungkook whined.

“You only call me ‘hyung’ when you want something from me,” Jimin complained, but Jungkook could see a slight, pleased smile on his face and knew it would only be time before the older teen gave in.  “It’s a wayhouse, kind of,” Jimin allowed at last.  “A safe place so we can meet everyone without showing you anything important, because even if I trust you, it doesn’t mean everybody else does.”

Everybody else.  Jungkook felt a thrill of anticipation and nervousness run down his spine as Jimin slowed his jog to a walk in front of an abandoned building.  It wasn’t much of a sight.  The bare concrete walls were cracked and stained, and any windows were now devoid of their panes, apart from scatterings of broken glass on the ground.  Jungkook peered into the building, seeing nothing but broken furniture and more destruction.  “There’s nothing here,” Jungkook whispered under his breath.

Jimin ignored him, again, pushing open a front door that may have been red at one point.  It was already halfway off its hinges.  “Come on, Jungkook, don’t be a wimp.  It’s completely safe.”

Jungkook stepped over the cracked wooden planks into the house, wincing at the rotting boards squeaking in his wake.  His boots crunched over the glass shards on the ground and he squinted through the gloom.  “Jimin!” he muttered as the older boy advanced through to another room.  “Hyung?”

“You’re so slow, Jungkook,” Jimin grumbled.  When Jungkook followed, he found Jimin in a small room.  A broken bed frame was in the corner but the mattress itself and any kind of bedding was long gone.  There was a window on the far wall, but like every other room, the glass panes were in jagged pieces.

Eyes flitting from corner to corner, Jungkook turned his attention back to Jimin, who was sliding open the closet door.  Curious, he wandered closer as the Unregistered began pulling up floorboards inside from the closet, and his eyebrows shot up when he saw a rickety wooden staircase leading down into the darkness.  Jimin turned with a cocky smirk.  “Let’s go, Jungkookie.”

Jimin fished a flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on, and Jungkook followed suit as Jimin vanished down the staircase.  With one last nervous glance around the room and at the stairs beneath the house,  Jungkook followed him down cautiously.

There was a railing on the side, but when Jungkook touched it lightly, it creaked and wobbled menacingly; he didn’t trust it to hold his weight.  He yanked his hand back when his fingers brushed the wall and splinters caught at his skin.

Doubts sprang up in his mind.  Jungkook had never been especially trusting, not in the Sector he was born in, and definitely not at the Overwatch Academy.  Generous gestures there were carefully calculated movements, and friendly overtures were merely a veil for backstabbing.  Jungkook had survived and thrived by keeping ahead of the maneuvering.  Yet here he was, following an Unregistered he had met barely a quarter earlier into an underground hideout to meet even more of them.  It screamed ‘trap’.

He followed Jimin anyway.

At the bottom of the staircase was a rusty metal door.  Jimin stuck the flashlight into his mouth and tugged it open.

Jungkook squinted at the warm light and conversation that suddenly spilled out of the room.  Jimin grinned, face suddenly bright, and flashed a smile back at Jungkook.  “We’re here!” he sang, waltzing into the room.  Jungkook caught the unexpectedly heavy door as it began to close and peered hesitantly into the room that had enveloped his friend.

A teen, a whole head taller than Jimin and with ruffled, wild hair, had grabbed Jimin with an arm draped around his shoulders and half-dragged him across the room, chattering nonstop.  Another lazed on a ratty leather couch, feet dangling over the side of the armrest and a pair of old-fashioned earbuds in his ears--the kind the Overwatch had used for communications before upgrading to the single wireless ear piece.  His fingers tapped a pattern erratically on his thigh.

Somebody else sat in a rickety wooden chair with feet propped up on an equally beat-up desk, hair buzzed on the side of his head and somehow standing upright on the top.  Slim fingers tapped a pencil against his lips, and papers with mindless scribbles scrawled on the sheets were scattered on the table in front of him.  Distracted eyes flickered up to meet Jungkook’s startled gaze before returning to the papers. “Jimin,” said the teen, his voice low and with a strange cadence Jungkook couldn’t place.  “Introduce your friend.  He looks like a lost puppy.”  Jungkook opened his mouth, but the Unregistered interrupted before he could get the words out. “Come in, close the door, kid.  Make yourself comfortable.”

Hesitantly, Jungkook clicked off his flashlight and pocketed it, stepped fully into the room and let the heavy door clunk closed behind him.  Meanwhile, Jimin had untangled himself from his gangly friend and waltzed back over to Jungkook.

“Everybody!” Jimin crowed, slinging an arm around Jungkook.  The height difference making him stagger forward, closer to the center of the room.  “This is Jungkookie.  He’s a Watcher, Level 2.”

“Level 3,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, but Jimin ignored him.

“He’s fifteen!” Jimin beamed.  Jungkook shifted on his feet and tried not to look too awkward as the other three people in the room scrutinized him.  “That’s Hobi-hyung,” Jimin pointed at the guy on the couch.  “You can call him J-Hope too, he likes that.”

Jungkook blinked.  “J-Hope?”

The teen on the couch pulled his earbuds out and twirled them, flashing a thousand-kilowatt smile at Jungkook.  “Nice to meet you, Jungkook,” he nodded.

“V’s in the back corner,” Jimin continued.

The tall, gangly one smiled – strangely boxy – crinkling his eyes up into crescents as he waved.  “I’m V!” he chirped, a package of chips in the hand not waving enthusiastically.  “I’m the same age as Jiminie!”

“He’s a bit weird,” Jimin confided in an aside that everybody in the room could hear, and V’s face contorted into an outrageously offended expression.  He made several aborted attempts to retort, but they all subsided into subdued sputtering as he pointed at Jimin accusingly.

“Uh…hi,” Jungkook managed, eyes darting from Jimin to V uncertainly.

“And that’s, uh.”  Jimin faltered, and Jungkook blinked at him.   “You can call him, uh, Rapmon-hyung.”

Jungkook squinted at him as V giggled from across the room. “Call him what?” he asked at last.

‘Rapmon’ twisted his head to glare at first V, then Jimin in turn, unamused.

Jimin looked half mortified and half on the verge of giggling.  “It’s a long story,” he muttered sheepishly.  “Rapmonie-hyung, uh.  It’s a nickname.”

“My name is Namjoon,” the guy grumbled, already distracted by the papers in front of him.

“But we call him Rapmon!  Or Monnie-hyung,” added V from the back.

Jungkook’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly as the four Unregistered watched him expectantly.  At a loss, Jungkook tried a bow.  “It’s…nice to meet you all,” he hedged, cheeks flaming red.  Jimin and V snickered, and Jungkook glared at both of them.

Namjoon smirked.  “Yeah, we’ll get along great.  Welcome to the family, Jungkook.”

And just like that, Jungkook found himself a part of Bangtan Sonyeondan.

 

“It’s just wishful thinking,” V confided in him one night, when he, Jungkook, and Jimin sprawled together on a couch in the ‘wayhouse’ cellar.  “We’re not actually bulletproof, you know.”  He winked, and Jungkook blinked back, bemused.  “But it sounds catchy!  Doesn’t it?  We needed something to call ourselves, since we’re all family.  And oh, there’s more of us too but they’re super busy and can’t make it a lot, and we didn’t want to take hyung’s name even if he would technically be the dad.  And it’s just weird if we’re all like Kim-something even though that already is my surname, and there are others of us that are us but aren’t exactly us, so we have different family team names.”

“So, uh…who came up with the name ‘Bulletproof Boyscouts’?” Jungkook asked, struggling to maintain a straight face.

Jimin and V exchanged a glance over Jungkook’s head.  “Well, Monie-hyung always says—” began Jimin with a mock-solemn expression.

“It has a profound meaning—”

“Of shielding life’s ‘bullets’—”

“And embodies the spirit of the emerging generation,” V finished with an equally straight face, and a second later, he and Jimin dissolved into giggles.  Jungkook couldn’t suppress his own grin tugging at the edges of his mouth.

Namjoon’s head poked through the doorway with an annoyed expression.  “Hey, don’t laugh,” he grumbled, as Jimin whipped out his best innocent face and V struggled to contain his laughter.  “It has a deep connotation with—” the older teen cut himself off, staring at the trio briefly, before rolling his eyes and shaking his head.  He vanished from sight once more, and Jungkook could hear him grumbling about the uselessness of uncivilized punks with no appreciation for literary genius.

Once he was out of sight, Jimin and V fell back laughing, and this time, Jungkook joined them.

“So, a Watcher,” V commented, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  Jungkook nodded.  “A cute little thing like you.  I can’t believe it.”

“I’m sixteen!” Jungkook objected.  “And I’m taller than Jimin!”  It was true, Jungkook had, in fact, grown a centimeter or two taller than the Unregistered, to the elder’s dismay.

“Call me hyung!” Jimin butted in indignantly.

“I guess that’s true,” V admitted, squinting at Jungkook and nodding sagely, completely ignoring Jimin.  Jungkook smirked.  “But you’re both still shorter than me, so I can still call you cute,” he finished smugly, and Jungkook glared.

“Hey, wait,” Jimin interjected, staring at Jungkook suspiciously.  “When we first met, you said you were fifteen.”

“I turned sixteen.” Jungkook shrugged nonchalantly.

Jimin’s jaw dropped.  “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Tell you why?” Jungkook frowned, confused.

“When your birthday was!” Jimin seemed rather offended, and Jungkook wasn’t entirely certain why.

“Half a week ago?” Jungkook hedged.

“Hey, you didn’t tell me either!” V cut in.

“I just met you!  Two weeks ago!  And I’ve only actually seen you like five times!” Jungkook defended, but neither V nor Jimin were having any of it.

“You have to tell us these things!” Jimin insisted, voice rising.

“What?” Jungkook stared at him skeptically.  “Why?”

“So we can celebrate, of course!” V slung one arm around Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Celebrate what?”

Both V and Jimin stared at Jungkook as if he had grown an extra head.

“Your birthday,” V explained, as if talking to a very small child.  “We have to celebrate your birthday!”

“Why?” Jungkook asked, bemused, but V’s enthusiasm would not be derailed.

“You’re our new maknae, now, and it used to be me and Jiminie but you’re here now so of course we have to celebrate your birthday, it’s a thing, why don’t Watchers do that?  I’m pretty sure Workers do it too; it’s a big thing!  We can have cake and a party and we can hang out and go free-running and it’ll be amazing and—”

“Hey, guys,” J-Hope said as he dimpled, walking through the doorway with a black beanie pulled low over his ears and a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.  “What’s all the noise about?”

“Hyu-u-ung!” Jimin wailed, throwing himself at J-Hope and clinging to him like a leech. “Jungkookie had his birthday and he didn’t tell us!  And he didn’t even know he was supposed to celebrate it!”

J-Hope pulled an exaggerated horrified face, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head.  “You poor, deprived child!”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal, but V-hyung—” Jungkook began, before he was cut off.

“It is a big deal!” V screeched.

“It’s your birthday!” J-hope bemoaned.

“Why do you call him hyung but not me?” howled Jimin.

Jungkook gaped haplessly at the trio before his glance darted to the doorway, where Namjoon leaned with his arms crossed, equally nonplussed.

V followed his gaze and leapt off the couch in a flash, half-tackling Namjoon, who pinwheeled his arms but couldn’t avoid tripping backwards and landing hard on his back with V on top of him.  “Leader-hyung!” V stared at Namjoon with impossibly large eyes as the elder groaned, the breath knocked out of him.  “Leader-hyung, we have to have a birthday party for Jungkookie!”

Namjoon, flat on his back, blinked dazedly.  “Please,” Jimin wheedled, abandoning J-Hope’s side and leaning over V’s shoulder.

Namjoon’s eyes switched from V to Jimin to Jungkook, who was still sitting on the couch.  He closed his eyes and let out a sigh.  “Fine,” he grunted.

V let out a yell of happiness  He bumped into Jimin as he jumped up, and the two reeled for a few seconds before turning together and jumping on Jungkook, who sputtered and tried to push them off with little success.

“I’ll make a cake,” Namjoon offered.

“No!” yelped Jimin and V in unison.

“The God of Destruction is not allowed in the kitchen anymore,” J-Hope added, nodding in agreement.

“Hyung can make it instead of you, Monie-hyung,” Jimin suggested.  “Oh!  And can we let Jungkookie into the real hideout?” he wheedled.   “This one is too small for a party.”

Jungkook stilled, eyes wide, but Namjoon gingerly picked himself up and casted him a cursory glance before casually replying, “Sure, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

V and Jimin beamed.  Jungkook felt something in his chest sprout wings and take flight.

 

“What’s up with you, brat?” Yoongi grouched, throwing Jungkook a sideways look beneath his darkened visor.  “You’re awfully excited.”

For hours, Jungkook had been grinning uncontrollably beneath the cover his helmet provided, but Yoongi evidently could tell.  From the black shadows beneath the older teen’s eyes, Yoongi hadn’t slept much the night before, and Jungkook knew he hadn’t come back to the room until he’d returned to wake Jungkook up for the morning.  “No reason.”

Yoongi grunted disbelievingly, and the pair lapsed back into silence.  It had been a long day, and Jungkook could read the fatigue in the slump of his shoulders and footsteps just a little heavier than normal.

“There are some rumors that the Council is covering up something big,” Yoongi said suddenly.  “Something like entire Sectors being taken over by Unregistered.”

Jungkook’s stride faltered the tiniest bit, and Yoongi stopped and turned sharply to face him.  “In an outer Sector like this, we make a prime target.  When you became a Watcher, you swore to defend the will of the Overwatch, even if it means you die.”  Jungkook couldn’t see Yoongi’s face through the shaded visor and he doubted Yoongi could see his, but he swallowed nervously and tried not to look away.  “Are you prepared to die for the Overwatch, Jungkook?”

“Yes,” Jungkook responded instinctively, nervous under Yoongi’s stare.

Yoongi scrutinized him.  “I don’t believe you,” he said flatly, and turned to walk away, steps brisk.

Jungkook stood frozen, his heart in his throat, for a few brief seconds.  Then he hurried after Yoongi, but the question on the tip of his tongue wouldn’t come out as the words tangled themselves in his brain.

Neither teen spoke for the remainder of their shift.

Jungkook didn’t exactly have a lot of friends, so despite his trepidation and increasing dread that Yoongi was going to report him for treason and get him dragged away, he continued his routine of following the older teen to the cafeteria that evening for dinner.  By some stroke of luck, Yoongi had decided on company for the evening meal that night.  Instead of heading for an open table, he led Jungkook to a table where four others already sat – Sanghyuk and Hongbin, Jungkook recognized, and a pair of older men who had been the pair’s mentors: Taekwoon, an intimidating, broad-shouldered man with a resting face of a serial killer who Jungkook had yet to hear talk, and Jaehwan, who was as cheerful and bubbly as Taekwoon was silent.

Talking to Sanghyuk and Hongbin helped relieve a little of Jungkook’s apprehension, but the two were so close that Jungkook felt like an observer sometimes--an unwanted but tolerated third party.  Really, it had been Junhong who had been the bridge between them.

They were like V and Jimin--or the ‘95z’ as they called themselves--but even if Jungkook were biased, he felt as though the Unregistered pair were much more friendly and open.  And they were his, not Junhong’s, friends.  

At the thought of the two, the corner of Jungkook’s mouth tugged upward into a smile.  Jimin and a hyperactive V had warned him away, telling him they’d be busy for a couple days before Jimin would come back to get Jungkook for the party.

“You’re smiling,” Sanghyuk observed with wide eyes, jolting Jungkook out of his thoughts.

Hongbin sliced at his friend’s neck with the side of his open hand, looking scandalized.

“Oh, yeah, uh,” Jungkook fumbled, caught off guard.  “I was just…thinking of something,” he finished lamely.

“Well, it’s good if it makes you happy,” Hongbin said, smiling, and not-so-discreetly elbowed Sanghyuk in the side to cut off whatever overly blunt comment the younger teen might have made.

“Uh…yeah.”  Jungkook winced internally at the awkwardness of his reply, but Hongbin didn’t seem to mind, turning immediately to continue the conversation with Sanghyuk.  Hongbin was one of those Overwatch students who had been too nice for their own good, a trait that had him almost fail out of the Academy.  Jungkook envied him.

“Hey, have you heard?” Sanghyuk’s suddenly hushed voice caught Jungkook’s attention, and he and Hongbin both instinctively leaned in.  “Apparently the Keeper called a Division leadership meeting during our shift.  All the Unit commanders and Team leaders.  None of them would talk about what they discussed, but Minhyun from Gamma Team told me something big is happening in the Cardinal-1 Sectors.”

Jungkook fidgeted.  Hongbin shot him a nervous glance.

“I guess we won’t find out until we need to know,” Jungkook offered, and the other two nodded uneasily.   

 

“Jeon Jungkook!” Jimin pounced on him as soon as he stepped out of the housing complex.  Jungkook managed a weak smile; Yoongi’s veiled accusation and unspoken threat had dampened his excitement the past couple of days.  Jimin noticed, of course.  “Jungkookie, what’s wrong?” he asked, concerned, tilting his head like a cat.

“It’s nothing.”  Jungkook mustered up a brighter smile, which must have satisfied the Unregistered because the older teen grabbed his hand and dragged him along.

“You’re going to love it,” Jimin gushed.  “We’re all going to be there, and some of the other families.”

“Gangs,” V corrected, popping out of a peripheral alley to join up with the other two.  “We’re a gang, not a family.”

“I hope you don’t mind them being there, but Leader-hyung said they should get to meet you too since you’re one of us now.”  Jimin peered worriedly over his shoulder at Jungkook.  “That’s not a problem, is it?”

Jungkook’s stomach was trying to tie itself in knots, but he managed a smile.  “No, it’s fine.”

“Great!” chirped V.  “Let’s hit the roofs, it’s more fun that way.”   

It was more fun, and the exhilaration of flying over the dizzying drops with the wind in his hair was enough to restore a brilliant grin to Jungkook’s face.   Eventually, Jimin stopped them on the roof of a large, abandoned warehouse that used to be a produce packaging plant.

“This is it, this is it!” V chanted gleefully before Jimin shushed him impatiently.

“This is a bi-i-ig moment, Jungkookie; you get to see our real hideout.  Which means you get an open invitation to come whenever you want, not just when I come to fish you out of that box you call home.”  Jimin’s eyes crinkled into crescents and he whirled, unlatching a maintenance hatch and flipping up the heavy metal cover as V bounced like an excited puppy.  Jimin vanished down the iron ladder, and V motioned for Jungkook to follow.

It was dark, pitch black when V closed the metal hatch behind him, and Jungkook felt his way down the ladder until his feet hit a metal walkway and Jimin pulled him to one side.  A thump indicated that V had made it down the ladder as well.

A light bloomed as Jimin clicked a flashlight on and led the way down the hallway to an intersection with three doors, reaching for the handle of the leftmost door without hesitation.  What followed was a dark maze of corridors, stairways and secret doors, and a whole lot of decoys before Jimin opened a door and blinded Jungkook with the bright light of the ‘real’ hideout.

V shoved Jungkook from behind, cackling gleefully and he stumbled into the room.  Since it was V, he’d pushed Jungkook into a person, probably around eighteen or nineteen, with catlike eyes and scruffy hair.    

“Sorry,” Jungkook muttered, stepping backwards quickly and bowing an apology.  Jimin materialized at his side and slung an arm around his neck.

“Youngjae-hyung!” Jimin sounded thrilled, as always.  “This is Jungkook, our new member; he’s the one this party’s for.”

Jungkook ducked his head, embarrassed, but Youngjae eyed him with interest and held out a hand.  “Happy birthday,” the older teen offered with a genial smile.  “I’m Youngjae, from B.A.P.  It’s nice to meet you. Jimin’s been talking about you since forever.”

“Thanks, nice to meet you too,” Jungkook shook his hand, and just like that V and Jimin whirled him away.

The room was swathed in rugs, mismatched and overlapping, probably to cover a concrete floor.  Various groups of people, who looked to be in their teens or early twenties, lounged on the couches and large cushions and pillows scattered around the edges of the room while they talked.  Jungkook couldn’t get a good look at any of them, because Jimin and V bundled him to a back room.

“It’s a family thing first, so we’re gonna hang out just with Bangtan for a bit before the real party starts,” Jimin explained, and V nodded sagely.

“Are…are all those people here all the time?” Jungkook wondered aloud.

“Well, this is pretty much the main headquarters for all the Unregistered in this Sector, so there’s always a lot of us here,” Jimin answered.  “But most of the families—”

“Gangs—”

“—have their own hideouts,” Jimin continued, ignoring V’s interruption.  “You’ve seen ours, but actually Bangtan spends a lot of time at the main headquarters.  Us and B.A.P and one or two others have permanent quarters here that we use.”

“B.A.P,” Jungkook repeated.

“Best. Absolute. Perfect.”

“You’re lying,” Jungkook accused blankly as V snickered behind him.

Jimin grinned gleefully and shook his head.

“There’s a VIXX too,” V chirped helpfully as the trio entered a smaller set of rooms.  Namjoon lounged on a ratty couch, its gaudy purple stained and faded. J-Hope was perched on the counter, legs dangling off the edge.

“Voice. Visual. Value in Excelsis,” interjected J-Hope, smirking.

Jungkook stopped short, squinting at the older teens in turn.  “You’re joking.  That doesn’t – how does that even spell VIXX?”

“It doesn’t, but N-hyung liked it.”  Namjoon waved them into the room, and Jungkook gingerly sat on a squashy black sofa that sank under his weight.  “And what N-hyung wants, N-hyung gets.”

V flopped down gracelessly next to Jungkook, and without any space left on the sofa, Jimin sprawled over both their laps.  Jungkook yelped, jerking his legs up instinctively and sending Jimin to the floor while V cackled like a hyena.  “That hurt, you brat!” Jimin mock-glared at Jungkook, retreating to Namjoon’s couch.

“You deserved it,” Jungkook sniffed, but he couldn’t hide his smirk.  Jimin leapt up and tackled him back into the sofa, and Jungkook pushed at his flailing arms, trying to shove him back off the couch.  V apparently would not be left out of the fun and grabbed Jungkook in a headlock when the pair inadvertently knocked into him, but Namjoon made several comments about ‘the futility of youth wasted on displays of dominance via physical altercations’ in the background.

“Oh, hyung,” Jungkook heard J-Hope say, surprised.  One hand shoved in Jimin’s face, the other scrabbling at V’s arm, Jungkook glanced up distractedly and froze.

Min Yoongi stalked through the door, nodded once at J-Hope and Namjoon, and sauntered past to sprawl in a dilapidated armchair adjacent to Jungkook’s sofa.   Jungkook’s wide eyes tracked his progress, his sudden stillness giving Jimin and V pause, but Yoongi ignored all three of them and slumped into the chair with his arms crossed, closing his eyes.

“Oh!” Jimin sounded thrilled, but Jungkook was horrified, unable to stop staring at his mentor.  In an Unregistered hideout.  And despite his rather intense dismay, a small apathetic voice somewhere in the back of his mind went, well, at least he won’t get you arrested for treason.  “Jungkookie, this is Suga-hyung!  Hyung, this is Jungkookie, the one I’ve been talking about all the time!”

If Jungkook hadn’t been in a state of shock, he might have made a snarky comment about oh, you talk about me all the time, Jimin?  But as it was, he simply stared in horrified fascination as Yoongi cracked open one eye to regard him with a blank look.

“Hey, brat,” Yoongi muttered, and closed his eye again.

“Hyung, don’t be so rude,” Jimin admonished.  “You can’t call him that when you first meet him!”

“I can and I did,” Yoongi retorted drowsily.

There were a lot of things running through Jungkook’s mind when he finally found his tongue--most of them beginning with what and why or how--but to his consternation, what came out was, “Hyung, they call you Sugar?”  He regretted it immediately, of course, and tried to wither back into the sofa as he hid his face with a cushion.

Jimin and V exploded into howling laughter, which did not help in the least bit, and even Namjoon and J-Hope snickered – which immediately cut off into the occasional titter when Yoongi treated them all to a venomous glare.  “Shut the hell up, brat,” he snarled, hurling the nearest object – another pillow, fortunately – in Jungkook’s direction, which caught V in the face and effectively muffled him.

“It’s Suga-hyung.  You’ve got balls, kid,” Namjoon choked out, smothering his laughter.  “Of all people to piss off.”

“Sorry, hyung, I didn’t mean it,” Jungkook mumbled into his pillow, cheeks burning.

He heard Yoongi scoff, but it was followed by a semi-affectionate, “brat,” so he supposed he was forgiven.

After an awkward pause, V glanced between the two, and declared, “Jungkookie, I think he likes you!”

“Suga-hyung’s never that nice,” added Jimin.

“We’ve met?” Jungkook answered hesitantly, and everybody in the room sans Yoongi turned to stare at him.

“You have?”  Namjoon this time, an interested gleam in his eyes.  “Well, you are both Watchers, so…”

“He’s my roommate, you punks,” Yoongi grumbled, slitting his eyes open.  “How do you think he even met you guys?  I gave you my room number for a supply run, and one of you was sloppy when you came to pick it up.  Jungkook found whoever it was and made a mess of the food on the doorstep.”

“You knew?” Jungkook demanded, eyes wide.

“I’m not stupid, brat.”

Jungkook wanted to say more, but the whole room practically exploded in noise as the other members all shouted accusations and questions.

“You already knew Suga-hyung?”

“Why didn’t you say anything, hyung?”

“So that’s why you came back empty handed, Jimin!”

“You’ve known about him for half a year?!”

“Hyung, how could you?  Hyung!”

Yoongi, of course, declined to respond to any of them and simply watched them all placidly.

And just when Jungkook thought the night couldn’t get any more surreal, “Wow,” a new voice interrupted mildly from the doorway.  “Is this a bad time?”

Jungkook turned, as did everybody else in the room, and his jaw dropped open when he saw his Keeper, Kim fricking Seokjin, standing in the doorway in comfortable black clothes with a round parcel in his hands. “Happy birthday, Jungkook, sorry I’m late,” he said casually, wandering in and setting the box on the counter behind J-Hope.

“Hey, hyung!  Jungkookie, Jin-hyung makes the best cake!” Jimin interjected, then paused, whipping around to glare suspiciously at Seokjin.  “Jin-hyung!  Don’t tell me you already knew Jungkook too!”

Once again, apart from Yoongi, everyone in the room turned in unison to scrutinize Jungkook, who clutched his pillow with renewed fervor, before returning their stares to Seokjin.

“This isn’t real,” Jungkook muttered, sinking down with the pillow over his head.  “I’m dreaming.  I never met any Unregistered.  I’m just a Watcher.  I’m sleeping.  This is a dream.”

“Jungkookie?” Jimin asked, concern, peeling the pillow away from Jungkook’s face.  “Jin-hyung’s really nice.  Which you should know because apparently you guys have met.”

Forced to face reality, Jungkook nodded numbly.  “I know.”  Nice guy, Kim Seokjin.  Always ranked first in his class, first overall in the Overwatch Academy.  Earliest graduation in history.  Fastest promotion to Keeper in history.  Known for ruthless efficiency in solving Unregistered ‘problems’.  Golden child of the Overwatch and favorite of the Council.  Keeper Kim Seokjin.

The room had fallen back into a normal rhythm of conversation, but Jungkook couldn’t do anything but watch dully as Seokjin drifted around, always with a laugh ready as he talked.

“Jungkook, what’s wrong?” Jimin’s concerned face blocked his view of the Keeper as he leaned in front of him.  “You’re not on bad terms with Jin-hyung, are you?”

“No, it’s just…” Jungkook hesitated.  “You…know what he is, right?”

“Yeah,” Jimin answered simply as V vacated his spot next to Jungkook to latch onto Seokjin’s arm.  “Jin-hyung’s the one in charge of this whole operation.  He saved me and V when we were still Worker kids.  V’s mom was pregnant, but we lived in West-1, so anything any of us got to eat was thin soup and maybe rice, and it wasn’t enough even when V gave his to her.  So we tried to break into a factory and steal more food.”  Jimin grinned sheepishly when Jungkook stared at him incredulously.  “In our defense, we were like eleven or twelve and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”  He laughed, but Jungkook could see the strain around his eyes.  “We got caught, obviously, and the Keeper at the time wanted to have us banished from the nation entirely as an example.  Stealing means death, and all that.  But Jin-hyung was one of the Watchers then and volunteered to be the one to throw us out; instead, he cut out our trackers and hid us in an abandoned building and brought us medical supplies and food at night, and even food to V’s mom.”

“Seokjin-hyung did that?” Jungkook asked dubiously.

Jimin nodded.  “Is it that hard to believe?” he asked, a half-smile hovering on his lips.

“It’s just…he has a reputation and all that…” Jungkook trailed off uncomfortably.

“It’s mostly fake,” Jimin admitted cheerfully.  “A couple of Watchers found us one time and started chasing us, but Jin-hyung found us first near the edge of the river.  He hid us under the bank and told the other Watchers he’d broken our necks and thrown us in.”  He smirked.  “They believed him.”

“What about Yoongi-hyung?’

“After like a year of Jin-hyung hiding us, Suga-hyung graduated and joined Jin-hyung’s team.  He followed Jin-hyung out one night and caught him red-handed with us.  Jin-hyung was afraid he’d report us all, but Suga-hyung was our sunbae at school before he transferred to the Overwatch Academy and he told us he actually knew some Unregistered, and that we’d be safer with them.”

“Were they…?”

“Yeah, Namjoonie-hyung and J-Hobi-hyung.  They took us in,” Jimin confirmed.

Jungkook huffed out a short breath.  “I can’t believe it,” he muttered.  “I’ve gone completely crazy.  I’m hallucinating.  They talk about Seokjin-hyung at the Academy, did you know that?  They hold him up as the model of what a Watcher should strive to be.  Ruthless.  Efficient.  Hardline stance against all Unregistered anarchists.”

“Oh, they do?”  Jimin’s eyes crinkled, amused.

“What the hell, what the hell,” Jungkook chanted under his breath.

“Jungkook, are you alright?”  Seokjin had made his way over, V hanging off his arm, and Jungkook could see concern in both their eyes.

Jungkook managed a weak grin.  “Terrific.”

Seokjin’s answering smile was warm, and Jungkook wondered how much of it was a lie.  “Well, how about some cake?” the Keeper suggested.  “I made two.  A giant one to keep the lot out there happy,” he waves a hand at the doorway, “and a smaller one, just for us.”

Cake.  High in fat, high in sugar, almost a hundred percent carbohydrate.  A forbidden food at the Academy, and rare anywhere else in the nation.  His Academy teachers would crucify him if they knew.

“Sure,” said Jungkook.

V exploded in delight at the idea of cake, and Jimin had to tackle him to the ground and cover his mouth with one hand to avoid alerting the piranhas outside.  Jungkook watched, wide-eyed, because in his opinion V most definitely did not need more sugar in his system.  Seokjin was evidently used to this sort of behavior and merely stepped over the squabbling pair to reach the cake on the counter.

“It’s chocolate.  I hope you like chocolate,” Seokjin called over his shoulder.

Did he like chocolate?  He didn’t know.  “Yeah,” he said aloud anyway.

J-Hope had managed to draw both Yoongi and Namjoon into a conversation--one that Jungkook was surprised to find Yoongi avidly participating in with minimal insults.  It was the most animated he’d seen his former mentor, a new side he’d only seen hints of and usually only when Seokjin was around as well.

They’d sung to him, wishing him a happy birthday, dear Jungkook, which was weird, and they’d made him blow out a ton of candles they’d stuck in the top of the cake for some reason.  Wasn’t it unsanitary?  Why poke holes in the cake?  Why light a fire just to have him blow it out?  But Jimin laughed and told him to go with it, which he was glad of afterwards because the cake was surprisingly good.  The pastry was soft and moist, and the icing melted on his tongue; cloying, but addictive.

“It’s good,” Jungkook admitted around a mouthful of cake.

Leaning against the counter on the other side of the room, Seokjin smiled bashfully.

“Of course it’s good!” V enthused, spraying crumbs onto Jungkook’s arm.  “Jin-hyung made it!”

Jungkook made a face and shook the crumbs off.

“Jin-hyung can cook anything,” Jimin added.  “And he’s really good at it!”

Jungkook could see the tips of Seokjin’s ears turning pink.  “That’s the first time I’ve heard you brats say that,” Seokjin muttered under his breath, popping another bite into his mouth.

“Yeah, hyung, you’re really good at it,” V chimed, eyes gleaming.  “Make us more!”

“You’re an ungrateful punk, you know that?” Seokjin rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Kim Taehyung.”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook repeated aloud.

“You didn’t think V was his real name, did you?” Jimin joked, bumping Jungkook’s knee with his elbow.  “I like to call him Taetae sometimes, but he thinks V sounds cool, so.”

“Namjoonie-hyung picked that name,” V pouted.

“You said you liked it,” Namjoon retorted.

“You wanted people to call you Rap Monster,” Yoongi pointed out dryly, and V and Jimin burst into giggles.

“What?” Namjoon shot back, crossing his arms.  “It’s a strong name.  Jungkook thinks so too, doesn’t he?”

Jungkook froze, cake halfway to his mouth, as the room’s scrutiny turned on him.  “Ah…it’s, uh… very…intense,” he finished weakly.  Namjoon sat back with a triumphant fist pump, while Yoongi and J-Hope eyed him with dubious stares.

“Hyung, I’m not sure that was a yes,” said Jimin doubtfully.

Namjoon sniffed dramatically.  “You guys just don’t understand pure genius.”

“Don’t play the misunderstood genius card, Namjoon,” Yoongi muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, we should get the party started outside!”  J-Hope jumped up, grabbing an ancient black boombox on the floor next to his seat and yanking Yoongi up by the wrist, half-dragging the elder towards the doorway.

“Let go of me,” Yoongi snarled.  He swatted ineffectively at J-Hope’s arm with the hand that wasn’t trapped in a viselike grip, but J-Hope ignored him.

“Let’s get this party sta-arte-e-e-e-ed!” Jungkook heard him yell as he disappeared outside.  Loud music began blaring, and the crowd in the next room let out a ragged cheer.

Seokjin rolled his eyes with a sigh, then smiled, fond but exasperated.  “Let’s go, guys,” he called, raising his voice to be heard over the music as all but a few of the lights went out.  “Nobody can stop J-Hope if he really wants a party.”

Jungkook wasn’t entirely keen on joining the dark room full of strangers, but V and Jimin exchanged a glance and a mischievous smirk before each grabbing one of his wrists.  “Hey, wait!” he objected, but the pair hauled him bodily out of the room before he could further protest.

“Enjoy this, Jungkookie!” V yelled in his ear.  “We don’t throw parties very often!”

“It’ll be fun!” Jimin encouraged from his other side.

How fun could it be?  Jungkook didn’t understand the music or the dimmed lights, or why people seemed to be moving erratically to the heavy beat.  “What’re they doing?” he practically shouted at Jimin.

Jimin beamed.  “Dancing!” he answered, and then, “Watch him, Taetae, I wanna show him!” and was gone from his side to the middle of the room.

“Jiminie’s really good at it!” V explained.  And even if Jungkook didn’t know what Jimin was doing, swaying to the beat, popping his joints with the music and shifting fluidly from position to position, he could tell that Jimin was, in fact, very good at dancing.  And the Unregistered teen enjoyed it too, if the light flush and unfailing smile on his lips was any indication.

Jungkook was mesmerized until the song changed, and an out-of-breath Jimin, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and his ever-present grin on his face, wove his way back to where V and Jungkook were waiting and watching.

“That was…great,” Jungkook managed, when V handed Jimin a drink in a battered metal can.

Jimin tipped his head back to drink and laughed self-consciously, shrugging off the praise.  “You should try it too, Jungkookie, it’s fun.  You’ll love it!”

“I don’t know how.  Maybe next time,” he suggested wistfully, eyeing the drink in Jimin’s hand.

“Want a sip?” Jimin waggled the can in Jungkook’s direction, but Jungkook sort of frowned and didn’t take it.

Jimin rolled his eyes.  “It’s safe, you big baby.  What, are you afraid of a little spit?”

“Here, just have a new one,” V laughed, passing an unopened can to Jungkook.  Jungkook picked up the can dubiously, eyeing its faded print and dented metal.  “Carbonated, not alcoholic,” V explained, with a touch of disappointment.  “Because Jin-hyung is the one that picks this stuff, and he’s totally – “  V’s eyes darted to the left, where Seokjin had just come into earshot with a raised eyebrow “—concerned about our general health,” V finished smoothly, crinkling his eyes into a winsome smile.

Seokjin rolled his eyes and ruffled V’s hair fondly.  “I’m sure that’s what you were planning on saying.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, hyung.”  V blinked innocently.

“It’s not like there’s a lot of alcohol around, anyways,” Jimin lamented.  “Just whatever homemade stuff people can brew up in secret, like Himchannie-hyung and his moonshine…” he trailed off, sending a wary sideways glance at Seokjin, whose disapproving stare was now fixated on him, “…which I definitely have not tried because I’m still too young for alcohol,” he finished with a weak smile, edging behind Jungkook.  Jungkook scooted away, not willing to be used as a human shield between Jimin and whatever ungodly wrath Seokjin might rain down on him.

“You don’t need alcohol to enjoy a party,” Seokjin frowned, not-so-subtly eyeing the drinks the trio held in their hands.  At his crestfallen expression, Jimin and V hurried to reassure him.

“No! No, hyung, this is great!”

“Yeah, hyung, we’re having a good time,” V agreed.  “Aren’t we, Jungkookie?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook smiled at Seokjin.  “Thanks for doing this, h-hyung,” he stuttered a little on the familiar address, but Seokjin didn’t seem to notice, merely patting on the head with a beatific smile before bidding them goodbye and wandering off to save a disgruntled Yoongi from J-Hope’s overly enthusiastic dance performance.

Jimin grabbed him by the hand.  “C’mon, Jungkook, we gotta introduce you to a lot of people.  There’re a lot of groups represented here, and it’s your first time meeting them all.”

Jungkook wasn’t particularly interested in meeting anyone else, but Jimin was insistent, so he let the older boy drag him along while he studied the other partygoers.  Most were around Jimin’s age, a few younger or older--the oldest he estimated to be in their late twenties.  Their well-worn clothes were colorful; some were red, blue, green, all faded but still more vibrant than the monochrome greys and blacks of the Overwatch and more appealing than the Workers’ orange.  Here, they were smiling and laughing, but he could read hard planes and stress lines beneath their expressions.  Several had colored their hair or drawn dark kohl around their eyes, some wore bangles or bracelets and other pieces of jewelry that served no obvious purpose and would likely detract from a fight.  Jungkook's eyes widened as he caught sight of a few familiar faces in the corner, but before he could say anything, Jimin pulled his attention back.

“This is Yongguk-hyung,” he introduced, poking Jungkook in the side.  “He’s B.A.P’s leader.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jungkook bowed automatically, and Yongguk nodded.  His hair was cropped close to his skull in a severe undercut, the top left a bit longer, and a touch of kohl rimmed his eyes. He wore a white tank and dark jeans, but Jungkook’s eyes were drawn to the black metal spikes piercing his earlobes.

“Jungkook, is it?” Yongguk asked, scrutinizing the younger boy.  Jungkook nodded, a little intimidated, but Yongguk smiled; it was a sight so warm and disarming that Jungkook blinked before he could register the change, and then Yongguk clapped him on the shoulder.  “I’ve heard good things about you, kid.”

“From who?” Jungkook blurted, but V had grabbed his upper arm and pulled him away with a “Talk to you later, hyung!” directed at Yongguk.

“It’s N-hyung!” Jimin cheered.  Jungkook presently found himself face to face with a tall, bronzed teen with a wide-eyed deer-in-the headlights expression as V and Jimin greeted him exuberantly.

“N-hyung!”

“N-hyung, hi!”

“N-hyung, where have you been?”

N’s eyes shifted from one to the other and back again, the rest of his face still frozen, before his gaze landed on Jungkook.  “Ya, you two,” he interrupted, “who’s this?”

Jungkook squinted at the person introduced as ‘N’, jolting when he realized who he was.  “…Cha Hakyeon-ssi?” he tried.

V and Jimin’s heads swiveled towards Jungkook, abruptly cutting off their chattering.  

“You know him too,” V muttered in disbelief, shaking his head despondently.

N, however, looked confused for a few seconds before visibly brightening.  “Oh!  You’re one of the newer kids from Beta Team!” he observed, smiling.

“Y-Yeah…”  Jungkook blinked, darting from N’s face before glancing over the rest of the room.  “I…didn’t know you were…wait, you’re a leader of one of these gangs?” he recalled suddenly, eyes wide.  “How can you be both a team leader in the Overwatch and a…an Unregistered gang leader?”

“Oh, I…” N looked flustered for a brief moment.  “There’s actually a lot of members of Division 222 involved in this,” he explained haltingly.  “Don’t…didn’t anyone tell you…?”

Jungkook let out a disbelieving huff, smiling humorlessly. “I didn’t even know my roommate came here until twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh.”  The older Watcher appeared legitimately upset, and Jimin and V exchanged apprehensive glances. “I—I thought for sure Yoongi would...talk to you about it, at least…or maybe even your team leader.”

“Team leader?” Jungkook echoed dumbly.

“Mark?  Or, Yien?” Hakyeon said uncertainly.  “He’s—he’s a member of Got7, Jackson too – or, you know him as Kayee, I think.”

Jungkook laughed mirthlessly.  “I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore,” he muttered.

“Oh, but some of my VIXX members said they know you, but not that you’re part of Bangtan,” N added, desperately trying to steer the conversation back in a safer direction.  “Hongbin and Hyukkie say you’re a friend.”

Jungkook wondered if that was hysteria bubbling up in his lungs, making it difficult to breath.  “Yeah,” he choked.  “A friend.”  Now that he knew what to look for, his eyes darted to one corner of the room; he recognized Sanghyuk and Hongbin, as well as their former mentors, unfamiliar without their uniforms.  On the other side, he recognized a trio of Level 3s from Gamma Team, and sipping their drinks around a table was a group that Jungkook now thought for sure must be Watchers from another Unit.   V and Jimin had both fallen silent, watching him with concern, but Jungkook couldn’t take it anymore.  “I’m sorry,” he muttered.  “I have to go.”  He bowed a hasty apology at N and turned to push his way through the crowd to the door.

“Jungkook, wait!” Jimin called behind him, but the press of people forced them apart. In a matter of seconds, Jungkook had wrenched the door open and taken to the maze of hallways.  

He wasn’t thinking straight. He couldn’t think straight.  His whole world had been flipped upside down and shaken vigorously until he couldn’t tell which way was up or down.  Jungkook blundered through the halls, hitting dead ends more often than not until by some miracle he found his way to the darkened hall leading to the ladder to the surface.

The chill night air hit his bare arms, but Jungkook didn’t flinch.  He didn’t want to go back inside, but he didn’t want to return to his apartment room either.  Instead, Jungkook wandered to the edge and let himself slide to the roof, one arm automatically tucking behind his head for a pillow as his gaze found the stars.  

Practically his entire team--no, probably his entire Division was working with Unregistered.  Jungkook had been indoctrinated into the system as early of any of them; he’d learned and genuinely believed that the rules must be followed, that the Unregistered was the enemy sowing chaos by upsetting the system, that the Overwatch was the gentle but firm hand that must keep order despite the sinful nature of humankind.

So what had gone wrong?  The Overwatch remained true to those principles that Jungkook still believed in, didn’t it?  But the fact that not only he but other Watchers there that night were intimately involved in the machinations of the Unregistered claimed otherwise.  So what happened?  Perhaps they had all fallen prey to the corruptive force wielded by the Unregistered that the Academy warned of.  Or was it that something had been lost along the way – faith in the system?

“Hey.”  Jungkook was too well-trained to jump at the voice, but he calmed his racing heart as he turned his head to see Seokjin leaning against the trapdoor Jungkook had left open.  “You left in a hurry,” the Keeper noted, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.  “Is everything alright?”

Jungkook snorted mirthlessly, letting his head thump back down.  “If by ‘alright’ you mean completely overwhelmed at finding out that pretty much the entire Division and probably at least half the Overwatch forces are secretly working with the Unregistered behind the Council’s back, yeah, I’m just fine,” he muttered bitterly.

Cloth rustled as Seokjin picked his way across the roof and gingerly sat down next to Jungkook.  “Is it really that much of a shock?” he asked mildly, absentmindedly fiddling with his sleeve cuffs.  “After all, you worked with them too.”

“That was different,” Jungkook insisted.  “It was just Jimin.  And then V-hyung, and hanging out with Namjoonie-hyung and Hobi-hyung.  It wasn’t working with them.”

“You took food intended solely for Watchers and helped him give those supplies to the Workers, which is illegal,” Seokjin pointed out.  Jungkook didn’t say anything, and Seokjin smiled gently, leaning back on one arm and tipping his head back to survey the night sky.  “I was surprised.  I didn’t expect you to go along with Jimin.  I thought for sure you’d turn him in.”  Without turning to look at Jungkook, he continued, “But it looks like Junhongie was right.”

The pang of grief Jungkook felt at his friend’s name quickly faded into a stab of betrayal.  He laughed.  “I can’t believe it,” he spat bitterly.  “He was one of you too, wasn’t he?  My dead best friend was spying on me for you!”  Even as the words left his mouth, the sudden jolt of fury evaporated; Jungkook couldn’t muster the energy to care anymore.  He was empty.

Beside him, Seokjin sighed tiredly.  “Before he joined the Overwatch Academy, Junhongie was already Zelo, the maknae of BAP.  He didn’t want to be a Watcher, but he was one of the best qualified to help fill the ranks with sympathizers.  He was smart, but he hid his intelligence because he didn’t want to go to the Academy until as late as possible.”

“Children.  You recruited children to fight for you,” Jungkook said blankly.

“The Overwatch does the same thing,” Seokjin pointed out gently.  “I was only fourteen when they put me on the front lines.  And look at you.  Sixteen years old and an officer.”  He paused.  “When Junhongie met you, after he got to know you, you started popping up in the reports he wrote.  He said you were tsundere,” Seokjin grinned fondly.

Jungkook snorted, an amused smile twitching at the corner of his mouth involuntarily, and Seokjin continued.  “He said for sure you’d join the cause, and he wanted to tell you right away.  He hated keeping it a secret from you, but Yongguk-hyung and the rest of the leaders wouldn’t let him.”  Seokjin leaned forward and leaned his elbows against his legs, staring out over the dark rooftops.  “They’d heard about you.  Top of your class, no matter what class.  Cold and unapproachable.  Unrepentant.  They were afraid you would be the one to reveal the entire operation.”

Jungkook kept his face blank.  Even now, even here, he couldn’t afford to let his guard down, to let Seokjin know he was weakening.  But there was one thing that kept gnawing at him, a question that had haunted him every night since that day his life had changed, and he didn’t want to hold onto that morbid curiosity any longer.  “Why did he die?” he asked quietly, ignoring how his voice wavered on the last word.  “Why was he killed?”

“He and Daehyun probably let something slip in their private texts,” Seokjin replied after a pause.  “I wasn’t notified until after, but the High Keeper sent his best assassin to stage an accident.”

Jungkook clenched his jaw but didn’t speak.

“He would be happy that you’re here with us,” Seokjin said softly, fixing Jungkook with a warm gaze.  

Jungkook shook his head.  “We’re all traitors,” Jungkook breathed.  “The Overwatch made me what I am.  Every skill I have, I learned and honed at the Academy.    I’m not blind, I know what you’re trying to do.  You want to start a revolt.”

“A revolution,” the Keeper corrected, twisting his sleeves together.  “It’s well underway; it’s going to happen.  It’s going to succeed.  We’re going to free the Workers, make it so the Unregistered don’t have to steal and live in hiding.  We’re going to create a new nation, one where everyone is equal and everybody gets education and enough food and resources.”

“That’s just wishful thinking.  You’re trying to create a perfect nation.  It’ll never work,” Jungkook muttered caustically.  “This one has flaws, yes, but that doesn’t mean you should tear the whole thing down and start from scratch.”

“It’s the only way to get a fresh start,” Seokjin argued.  “And maybe the new nation won’t be perfect, but we can make it as close as we get; we can’t do that if we still have the Overwatch above the Workers.”  His eyes softened.  “Jungkookie, I care about you; I really do—so does Jimin.  V and the rest of Bangtan really like you too.  We want you with us when we start over.”

“I can’t do this.  How can you do this?”  Jungkook shook his head reluctantly, hands clenching against the cold concrete as he hauled himself up to a sitting position to look Seokjin in the eyes.  “We’re both soldiers.  The Overwatch’s soldiers.  They gave me—us—everything.  How can anything ever compare to that?”

“I can do this because I know I fight for what’s right, and so should you.  We are that cause,” Seokjin fired back, the most passionate Jungkook had seen the passive Keeper.  “And we have more to give to you than demands of a lifetime of service.  We can give you a family.  We can give you hope for a better future.”  Seokjin smiled slightly, eyes going distant.

“We can give you a dream.”   

 

_“It’s over, isn’t it?  You’ve lost.  I can see it in your eyes.”_

_“It’s not over.  We can still fight!”_

_“Is that you speaking, or is that your pride?  It would be selfish of you to continue to resist this change.”_

_“I am the one who united this nation.  I am the one who can make the best decisions for these people!”_

_“Sunggyu--I can call you that, yes?  We are all but equals now.  Your control is crumbling, and soon you will have nothing.  Your precious ‘Overwatch’ is infected, but it is an illness that will save this nation rather than kill it.”_

_“I--”_

_“You understand this already, but your arrogance blinds you.  Your reign is over, but you can choose to end it on your own terms.”_

_“What the fuck.”_

_“Think about it: you have a choice to make.  You have the unique opportunity to expedite the process of helping this nation be reborn from the ashes.  Your successor hesitates in the wings, waiting for that final push.”_

_“You want to prove that I’m just like you, huh, Kim Jaejoong?”_

_“I want you to make the choice that is best for the people.”_

_“You want me to make myself the antagonist and paint a target on myself and my brothers.”_

_“If you lack the courage to follow through with your actions, there is always the easy way out.”_

_“What, suicide?  You mean kill ourselves?”_

_“Before the new power has a chance to pass judgement on you, you will have the opportunity to pass judgement on yourselves.  If not that, then you may simply think of it as for the sake of the survival of the nation.”_

_“And you?  Is that your plan as well?”_

_“No.  I will stay to witness the nation rise once again.”_

 

**Some stories make the pain worth the ending.**

**Some stories are never meant to have a happily ever after.**

**In a different story, Jungkook would recant his connections to Jimin and Bangtan and return to Central City, a Watcher to the end, and many years later see the city fall into ruins after waging endless battle with the insurgents.  He would wonder, from the moment he leaves West-2, what became of his friends, of the family that could have been.  But because he is a good soldier, he would quash his selfish dream and know only his duty.  Just as his teachers and the Overwatch predicted, he would become a renowned Keeper in his own right until the nation finally falls.  His only regret would be those stolen moments – of weakness, he will tell himself – of selfishness in West-2.**

**In another life, Jungkook might stay in limbo, stealing nights with Bangtan Sonyeondan and the revolution as it rises while faithfully fulfilling his duties as a Watcher during the day.  He would reprimand and punish the Workers with the Overwatch, but smuggle extra rations to their housing quarters.  He would refuse to pick a side, even when the war reaches his sector, and eventually, both sides would turn on him.  Even Jimin, with his forgiving nature, would turn his back and call Jungkook out as a hypocrite.  ­Jungkook would regret that he is not there when Bangtan calls on the people to take the nation for themselves and begin a new era for the nation, one of hope and with the best intentions.**

**But here, Jungkook’s story will end abruptly on the corner of a dark roof when he is nineteen, a bullet through his shoulder and another through his thigh.  Unable to run any further, he will turn to face his pursuer, his gun out of bullets and his knife knocked out of his hand in a scuffle three rooftops back to buy Jimin time to make it back to base alive.**

** “Jeon Jungkook, you have been charged and found guilty of treason,” the assassin will say, gun aimed at his chest. “The sentence is death.” **

** And Jungkook will smile, bittersweet, and let the hand clutching his shoulder wound fall to his side, because he knows that Jimin has gotten away and Jungkook will be a martyr.  “Make it quick,” he will ask, as one last favor.  And when he closes his eyes at the sound of the gunshot, it will be without regret. **

**Author's Note:**

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